


The Infundo Chronicles

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: American Pi - Freeform, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Chubby Bruce, Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Clothing Kink, Comfort Food, Depression, Eating, Fat Shaming, Feeder/Feedee dynamics, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Food Issues, Food Kink, Infundo Universe, Multi, Polyamory, Science Boyfriends, Self-Esteem Issues, Stuffing, Tight Clothing, Tight Spaces, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, fat admiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 79,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pocket vignettes showcasing Bruce, Steve and Tony's continuing relationship, post "Infundo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Clint Hears Bruce's Nickname

**Author's Note:**

> I continued this series on my Tumblr account, and I figured I should post it here, too. The stories will be easier to catalog here, anyway! Note: Some stories will be more/less kink-prone, than others, and some stories will be longer than others. And yes, I do take requests on tumblr (burlybanner.tumblr.com or sageventer.tumblr.com).

_In response to one of my headcanons, where I mentioned Steve coining food nicknames for Bruce, and Tony using bear or animal nicknames, Anonymous asked: "All I can picture is Steve coming into Bruce's lab thinking he's alone and greeting him by saying 'hello dumpling' and then realizing Clint's in the lab too. He tries to fix it but ends up calling Bruce Doctor Dumpling. He ends up quickly leaving the lab bright red."_

   
_**Oh, ho, ho…you know it.**_

***

Steve decides to surprise him. They have dinner plans tonight, but he really can’t wait that long because Bruce looks ridiculously adorable in his rumpled, ill-fitting lab coat. Steve figures squeezing the stuffing out of Bruce’s doughy love handles would make the perfect appetizer.

_Perfect._

Bruce scribbles something down on a notepad and misses Steve’s cat-like entrance. He squawks suddenly as Steve grabs him from behind, and dips him. 

“Whoa, Steve–! Wait–waitaminute–!”

“Hello, Dumplin’,” he purrs in Bruce’s ear. He hears Bruce groan as he lifts him back up, but he figures Bruce’s angry scowl is because he scared him. “Feel like a buffet? I’m thinking Chinese…”

Bruce grips Steve’s forearm a bit too tightly and spins him a little sharply. “Back corner,” he hisses through through gritted teeth, and Steve suddenly understands why. 

“Oh, hell.”

“’Dumpling’”? Hawkeye crows. He’s laughing so hard tears are streaming from his eyes. “Oh, God, that’s goin’ in the record books.”

“He wanted me to look over an injury,” Bruce huffs. “I wasn’t…we weren’t alone, and–”

Clint laughs harder. “Doctor Dumpling! Wait ‘til I tell ‘Tash…” 

Steve swallows and backpedals towards the door as his ears go beet red. “Uh…seven? See you at seven?”

“We’ll see,” Bruce growls.

Humiliated, Steve slips out, but not before Clint’s, “Doctor-freakin’ Dumpling!” follows him down the hall.


	2. The One Where Bruce is Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anon asks: "How would Steve and/or Tony react to Bruce being kidnapped by a villain/Ross."_  
>     
>  _ **Very, very badly, but in different ways:**_  
> 

(Pre-AoU, “R” or “M” for language, some mentions of gore).

***

Bruce told them he was going for a walk because his current lab project frustrated him, and he needed time to clear his head. Steve teased him first, telling him to call if he was winded on the way back. Tony chimed in second, saying Bruce’d probably call them in ten minutes. 

But three hours later, Steve meandered to Tony’s lab. “Is Bruce with you?”

Chuckling, Tony swiped away a virtual set of blueprints, and tapped his bottom lip with a screwdriver. “It’s hot. He’s probably holed up at Starbucks, sucking down this third frap and second croissant. Or third croissant and second frap.”

“Mm,” Steve murmured, not convinced. 

Tony dropped his teasing tone. “You think something’s up?”

“Not sure. You know he doesn’t go out much. When he does go out, it’s not far.”

“How long’s he been gone?”

“Three, almost three and a half hours.”

“What?” Tony dropped his screwdriver and immediately changed his computer display. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“He’s a grown man, Tony, not a toddler,” Steve snapped, but he was worried now, too. Bruce should’ve been back, and Tony’s reaction confirmed the disquiet churning in his gut. 

“Dammit, I can’t believe you didn’t–”

“Sirs,” Jarvis chimed.

“Not now, J, We’re trying to locate Bruce.”

“Sirs,” Jarvis pressed. “I believe I have the answer.” And before either man could respond, General Ross’ smug face filled the monitors.

“Hello, Stark,” Ross purred.

“You motherfucker,” Tony hissed through his teeth. “I told you once, and I’m telling you again, Bruce is not your fucking property, Ross. Hand him back over, or I’ll bury you in so much shit that not even F. Lee Bailey could save your ass.”

“Ooh, touchy.” Ross laughed. “And you’re half-right. Bruce isn’t my property, but Hulk is, and since it’s nigh near impossible to separate the two, well.” He shrugged.

Tony was about to go off on Ross again, but a firm hand on his shoulder held the tirade in his throat.

“General,” Steve said, in a quiet way Tony had never heard from him before. “This is your one and only opportunity. Hand Bruce back to us, and give up hunting for him. Permanently.”

“Or what, you’ll send the Avengers after me?” Ross snorted. “With what funding, and what team? SHIELD’s gone, gentlemen. And without them, there is no Avengers.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You sorry sack of horse shit. You have the IQ of a gnat if you think–”

“Tony,” Steve muttered. Tony whirled around, ready to attack Steve next, but his anger ebbed in his gut. Steve was all business now, and his expression could’ve scared a tic off a dog’s butt. Tony kinda hoped Ross wouldn’t back down, just to see what Steve’d do.

“I can’t say you haven’t taken good care of the good doctor,” Ross continued. “He looks good, and well-fed.” He chuckled. “Extremely well-fed, actually, sorta like a tubby turkey ready to pop. Too bad my calendar’s telling me it’s late November, and I need to drag out my carving knives.”

“You son of a bitch–ow!” Tony glared over his shoulder. Steve’s grip was far too powerful, and he’d clamped down hard. 

Steve shot Tony an apologetic look before continuing his conversation with Ross.

“General, thank you for giving us the stakes, and for telling us what you plan to do with Dr. Banner. We’ll be in touch.”

He manually cut-off the feed, but before Tony could get upset, he nodded to him. “You have Bruce tracked some way, right?”

Tony made a face, nodding. “Not GPS,” he admitted. “That’s too easy to block. It’s his radioactivity. Like an ultra-sensitive Geiger set to Bruce’s physiology alone. Small devices embedded in the soles of all of his shoes. Works as long as he doesn’t Hulk-out.”

“And we would’ve heard it on the news, if he had.” He nodded sharply. “Meet me at the Quinjet in fifteen minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Ten,” Steve agreed, and he left the lab. Tony began gearing his stealthiest suit, but he was a little unsettled by Steve’s coldness. They had one chance at this, and they’d have to trust one another to get Bruce out in one piece. And Tony had no idea what Steve had planned.

**

The ride over was entirely too quiet, and it wasn’t because the ‘jet was in stealth-mode. “You plannin’ anything I should know about?”

“Nope,” Steve said curtly. 

Tony gripped the yoke a bit tighter. “Steve, I need to know the plan.”

“I thought it was obvious,” Steve grunted. “You find Bruce. Make sure he’s safe. Get him out of the building by any means necessary.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “And what are you doing in all this?”

Steve paused a half-beat before pulling on his cowl. “The rest.”

**

At the first cough, Tony sprang up and stumbled into the railing. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, but it couldn’t have been that long; Steve was already rubbing Bruce’s hands and smiling in relief.

“Hey, Porkpie,” he murmured softly.

“S-Steve?” Bruce cracked open his eyes, and let a smile cross his tired lips when he caught both his and Tony’s soothing faces.

“You’re awake, Sully,” Tony chimed. He padded to the other side and grabbed Bruce’s other hand. “‘Bout time, too. There’s only so many meals Spangles will let you miss.”

“M-missed you both so goddamn much,” Bruce sighed. “I didn’t…I wasn’t sure if I’d ever–”

“Shh,” Steve clucked. “It’s over, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Bruce sighed softly and shut his eyes. Tony glanced nervously at Steve, wondering if he’d say anything, but it’d be too hard on Bruce to talk about it now. They got Banner out before Ross’ team did too much damage, but he’d still be in the hospital for a week or two - even with the Hulk’s help. He wished he had laid his hands on Ross, but…Steve. Tony swallowed. They wouldn’t be finding Ross any time soon. And even if they could, with the C4 Steve planted everywhere, it wasn’t like they’d find all of Ross in one place.

Tony swallowed again. The C4 finished Ross, but it wasn’t the C4 that tore Ross up in the first place.

“Get some sleep, Buddy,” Tony said, when he caught Bruce staring at him. Bruce made sure to look over both of them. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” he whispered. He knew something had happened; something neither wanted to mention.

“When you’re better, Porkpie,” Steve said, and Bruce chuckled softly as he drifted back to sleep.

“Steve,” Tony began when he was sure Bruce was out of it. “Are we really–”

“Only if he wants to know. And only when he’s better,” Steve said. He glanced at Tony. “It had to stop. ”

Tony nodded. And honestly, he knew if the situation had been reversed…he probably would’ve done the same thing, or tried to. It would’ve taken him longer, though. He just didn’t expect Steve would…

“Come here,” Steve said, and Tony sat next to him. Steve planted a small kiss to Tony’s forehead. “He didn’t give us an out, Tony. And he would’ve kept coming. And kept coming. Someone once told me, that’s not the type of man you save; it’s the type you stop. So I made sure it stopped.”

Tony let out a shuddering sigh. “You’re a scary man, Steve Rogers.”

“To those who mess with my family, yeah,” he said back.

Tony nodded. 

Bruce got better; it took a while, but Steve made sure he put on the weight he’d lost while recovering. It still took Bruce over a year before he felt safe enough to leave the tower again, and even then, he had to have one of them with him at all times. 

But Bruce never asked what ultimately happened to Ross, and neither Steve nor Tony ever told him.


	3. The One Where Bruce's Weight Gain is Gossip Fodder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anon asks: "Does the media talk about Bruce's weight gain or do Steve and Tony keep it out of the news?"_  
>     
>  _  
> **I think Steve and Tony want to protect Bruce as much as possible, but they can’t get every news source. I think Bruce would also see the inevitability of it.**_

“Shit.”

Tony slammed the paper on the table. His PR team was slipping. Either that, or they had a mole on the payroll; either answer didn’t bode well, and someone was about to get fired - for all the good it did them now. 

He chewed his lips at the wholly unflattering picture of him and Bruce, side by side, leaving a pastry shop. Of course Bruce was noshing on a doughnut right when they snapped the photo. As if the reprehensible headline, “The Incredible Bulk,” wasn’t bad enough.

“Tony! Has Bruce seen this crap–?”

He sighed when Steve came thundering into kitchen. “I think he’s still asleep. I would’ve been asleep too, if I hadn’t an early meeting.”

“Dammit,” Steve hissed. He was still sweaty from power lifting, and Tony let his eyes roam a moment. “Wait, it’s in the papers, too?”

Tony ground his teeth. “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

“The early morning television stations were joking about it. That one nasty program, what is it, TMD? TMP?”

“TMZ,” Tony corrected. “Fuck.” He picked up one of the papers and flung it across the kitchen floor. “Those vultures. They don’t care if he feels more at peace about himself. They just want their fucking story. God, it pisses me off. Next they’ll parade around the health experts, and the sycophants …”

Steve swallowed, and briefly scanned the Enquirer’s soundbites: “ ‘Ballooning scientist brings down team’s integrity.’ ‘Friends and colleagues’ tearful health concerns’. ‘300 isn’t just his batting average with the bad guys’; ‘Bad guys joke: We don’t need Hulk; Banner can sit on us’–” 

Tony sighed. “Ignore them, Steve. That’s what they do. That’s what they’ve always done. Hell, you should’ve read what they said about me, after I got a little crazy from Afghanistan.” 

Steve tore the page into pieces. “He’s the kindest, gentlest guy on the planet. Saved the world’s collective butts more times than I can count. He’s a _hero_ , Tony. And this is how they repay him?”

“I know. I’ll…have my PR department do some damage control, if it’s even possible…as fat as the United States is, it’s ironically fatphobic. In another few weeks he’ll be last week’s news. But until then–”

“Until when, what?” Both Tony and Steve froze as a sleepy Bruce tromped into the kitchen, wearing an ill-fitting, too tight t-shirt and flannel bottoms. He stretched up to the second shelf to grab a coffee mug, giving both Tony and Steve full view off his large gut poking from beneath the shirt. Yawning, he shuffled over to the coffee maker, suddenly frowning at the scattered paper on the floor.

He reached down for it. “We get a puppy I don’t know about?”

“Uh, wait, Bruce. I wouldn’t–”

“Heh.” Bruce’s jaw tightened a little at the ‘Incredible Bulk’ headline, but he tossed the paper aside and filled his coffee mug. “Guess they ran out of adjectives.”

Tony and Steve exchanged a look. “Aren’t you mad?” Steve asked.

Bruce chuckled and ran a hand through his fluffy hair while taking a sip from his mug. “Oh, sure. Furious. But c'mon. It was inevitable, guys. I mean, look at me, yeah?” He jiggled his stomach. “I can’t see my toes. Of course they’re gonna say shit, my weight’s almost double what it was when I got here.”

“Brucie,” Tony sighed. “I promise, I’ll get the PR dudes to work overtime. We’ll get it fixed.”

Bruce shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll blow over, and they’ll have someone new to chomp on. But thanks.” He took one last sip of coffee and dumped the rest in the sink. “At least now I’ll know to avoid the media for a month or so.”

“But it’s not fair,” Steve said. He came over to Bruce and ran his hands down his love handles. “They shouldn’t treat you like this, like you’re not human.”

Bruce bit back a chuckle. “You do know I’m part Hulk, right? But Steve.” He planted a small kiss on Steve’s lips and motioned Tony over. “Tony. I love you both, but you don’t get it. I’ve been in the Enquirer and the New York Daily News, and all sorts of papers for far worse. I’ve been called a Monster. A baby killer. A mass murder. I’ve seen my name in the news as someone - someTHING - to be hunted and destroyed. Trust me when I say I’d rather that they make fun of my weight. In my mind, that proves I’m human, more than anything else.”

Tony blinked at him, then shook his head. “You’re something else, Banner.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He gave Tony a quick kiss. “Now go, you’re late for your meeting.”

Tony glanced at his watch, then jumped as if prodded by a hot poker. “Oh shit, that’s right - we’ll talk later?”

Bruce shrugged. “If we need to. But honestly, I’m fine.”

Tony grabbed his briefcase. “But someone in my PR department won’t be. Gotta jet.” And he was out the door before either Bruce or Steve could comment.

Steve briefly ran his hands through Bruce’s hair. “Tony’s right. You’re amazing.”

“Eh. Just used to it, maybe immune to it.” His stomach growled loudly, and Steve patted his belly. 

“I think someone needs a double portion of French toast,” Steve murmured.

“And an omelet,” Bruce said, and his growling stomach agreed. Steve laughed. “Why not give the Daily News an exclusive for next month.”

“Sure. Why not,” Steve said, grabbing the bread and eggs from the fridge.


	4. The One Where Bruce Remembers Harlem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How do Steve and Tony cheer Bruce up when he has a bad day?"_
> 
> _**Unfortunately, he does have a few of those - and some days are worse than others.** _

He remembers anniversaries. 

He watches TV, watches as the people of Harlem set down flowers, in giant plaster casts of inhuman footprints. “To Janie,” one card reads. Another, “Justice for Brian.” These are the ones on his crimson, dripping ledger, people who will always hate him. People he can never save, no matter what he does.

The television goes black; he barely notices. “Bruce,” Tony says softly. “That’s enough.”

Steve pads to the left side on the couch, and wraps him in a huge blanket - big enough that it can engulf his large body. He hears Steve burrowing under the blanket, and he can hear Tony shuffling on his right. Tony brings him a cup of cocoa and places it on the coffee table, but he doesn’t touch it.

Instead, Tony flips the blanket, making sure it covers them all, and he can feel them both kneading and rubbing his thick body, attempting to bring warmth to his artificially cold limbs.

No one says, “it wasn’t your fault” because that would be a very foolish thing to say. Instead, they snuggle closer to him, as if he’s a giant stuffed bear bringing comfort to children, and he takes a small bit of relief from them. He sighs once, but he’ll never be “whole” from this. Still…Steve and Tony can help him weather the storms.


	5. The One Where Bruce Worries About Steve and Tony's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How does Bruce react/what does he do when Tony and Steve are on a mission he isn't needed on?"_
> 
> _**It depends on the mission. He has big problems with missions that were supposed to be “milk runs,” but end up on the national news. Those are the problematic ones.** _

_(Stuffing/slob warning)_

***

He moaned and rubbed his very full stomach; he shouldn’t have eaten all of what was there, but…he couldn’t help worrying. He’d gotten used to self-soothing with food, but usually not with _this_ much food.

“Jarvis,” Bruce whimpered. “How much longer?” He sounded like a whiny nine-year-old on a long car ride, but Tony and Steve had been due be back hours ago. It wasn’t supposed to be a tough mission. And now they were under radio silence, and how the hell was he supposed to keep calm, when they could be in trouble?

He should’ve gone. They probably weren’t safe.

“The radio silence will be lifted in approximately thirty minutes,” Jarvis reported. “They’re nearing the stratosphere, and at their current speed will reach Avengers Tower within a few hours.“

“Any injury reports?”

“Sorry, Doctor Banner. I don’t have any information to give you at this time.”

Bruce sighed deeply and unconsciously grabbed a bag of cookies.

**

“Bruce?” Tony limped around the common area, but didn’t see him. “Jarvis, where’s Bruce right now?”

“Doctor Banner is currently in his bedroom, asleep. He did have some stomach distress earlier this afternoon, but was able to sleep through it.”

“Really? Huh.”

Steve passed Tony, and quietly opened the door to Bruce’s bedroom; he chewed his lips, just stopping short of laughing out loud. “Oh, Porkie,” he said quietly, and he crooked his finger at Tony, motioning him closer. “I think we can figure out where the stomach distress came from.”

Tony poked in his head, and snorted at what he saw: Bruce’s sheets were literally covered with wrappers from fruit pies, cookies, chocolate, Hostess snacks, chips, and whatever else they’d had in the pantry. 

At Tony’s snort, Bruce woke from his sugar coma, and blearily scanned the room. “You back? Y’okay–?”

Tony chuckled and scraped away a pile of Twinkies wrappers. “We’re both fine. I sprained my ankle, but that was it. No more weird space enemies trying to destroy the moon.” He glared at Steve. “And why is it always the moon? You’d think Saturn, or Jupiter–”

“Tony,” Steve said, quietly stopping the man in mid-rant. He shook his head at Bruce’s pitiful state. “Oh, Porkpie,” he sighed. He ran a hand across Bruce’s stomach, and Bruce grunted a little, still in pain. “You’ve eaten yourself sick with worry, haven’t you?”

Bruce nodded sadly. “And we’re out of snacks,” he said, belching.

“I can tell,” Tony said. He scraped a glob of chocolate and cream from Bruce’s cheek and licked it off his fingers. “You goin’ for a world record, or what?”

“Just glad you guys are okay,” Bruce sighed. He absently rubbed his stomach and winced. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“And let you suffer the rest of the night?” Steve said, crossing his arms. “Nothin’ doing. You waited all this time for us, it’s time for us to take care of you.”

Steve and Tony got cleaned up - and cleaned up his sheets - and then joined Bruce in his bedroom. They took turns massaging him and making him feel better with…other things. And yes, the sex they had, despite how full he was, was even better than his second box of Twinkies.


	6. The One Where Bruce Learns to Lap Snuggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "I'm curious if Steve likes to pull chubby Bruce onto his lap and snuggle like that?"_
> 
> _**Y’know, I think Steve would like it, but it would take Bruce time to get used to it.** _

The first time, it made sense. Bruce had done Marathon Science and had been up for two straight days. But he’d promised Steve some one-on-one time, and hadn’t wanted to disappoint the man. They stayed in for a movie, but Bruce kept slipping in and out of consciousness, especially with Steve’s fingers massaging his scalp and carding his curls.

“Huh–?”

“Shh,” Steve hushed. Bruce felt his body shift, ever so slightly, until his butt and legs were comfortably splayed across Steve’s lap. “Go back to sleep.”

He struggled a little because it didn’t seem natural. But he was exhausted, and Steve’s heartbeat was lulling, and he was so damn tired…

He didn’t remember much about it, but woke up in bed with Steve spooning him on one side, and Tony on his right. He left it alone; it was one of the best naps he’d had in ages.

**

The second time he was embarrassed to say, he’d been roaring drunk. Funny thing was, it was entirely by accident - Thor’s cup had been next to his, and they were both drinking the same punch. Except Bruce didn’t know about the extra “kick” Thor put in his drink. He’d downed it without thinking when Tony offered to refresh his glass.

Thor tasted his drink, frowned, and quickly realized the error. “Doctor Banner,” he said slowly. “You may have drunk from my cup…did you finish what was in it?”

“Oh, sorry, Thor,” Bruce murmured apologetically. And wow, was it getting warm. Tony needed to turn up the air. “I didn’t…ah. I mean, it was an accident.”

Thor gaped at him, and Bruce couldn’t help it, the look on his face was hilarious. He giggled a little. “What? What’s wrong?”

Thor seemed nervous, but he put both hands on Bruce’s shoulder. “Stay here. I require your paramours.”

“Huh?”

“Do. Not. Move.”

But why was Thor telling him not to move? The couch was ridiculously comfortable. And…weird. Weird, weird, weird. What sort of word was weird, anyway? He sputtered through his lips, knowing if he’d had anything in his mouth he would’ve sprayed the table, but dammit he didn’t care. That shit was funny. God damn, everything was fucking funny. And why was everyone all inclines and angles? And why were they suddenly staring at him–?

Oh. Maybe it was because he was laughing hysterically, and somehow slipped to the floor. That could be it.

“Oh, Christ,” he heard, and maybe some laughter, because something was funny. He hoped it was him. Tony’s face suddenly swam into view, and Bruce started laughing again.

“To-ony,” Bruce sing-songed. “Hiya, sweetie.”

Tony hid a laugh in his throat. “Oh, he is fully, 100% loaded.”

Bruce gasped loudly and tugged Tony’s pantleg. “Am I drunk? Am I fucking drunk?”

“Yeah, babe,” Tony smirked. “You are.”

Steve came along side him with a glass of water. “Drink this,” he told Bruce.

“Izzit more al'col?”

“No. But hopefully it’ll take the edge off–Thor, will he be okay?”

Thor’s expression got Bruce laughing again, and he spurted half the water in his mouth across the carpet.

“Yes, most likely…a full glass, mayhap not, but he drank but half. As long as he drinks plenty of water within the hour, it should dilute some of the potency.”

“Heh. Reminds me of when I was a kid,” Tony grunted. “My first drunk was on rum, and it did not go well. We should…have a bucket ready.”

“Water first,” Steve said. And Bruce sort of saw Steve, but sort of not. Everything seemed too blurry, and he couldn’t tell if he was wearing his glasses. “C'mon, Bruce, let’s get you on the couch. The floor isn’t that comfortable.”

“Floor. I love this floor. Beautiful, beautiful floor.”

“Upsy-daisy,” Steve said, and Bruce felt himself yanked to his feet. But he was entirely too unstable, and it wasn’t like Steve had time to compensate, especially with Bruce’s larger size. “Oof,” Steve declared, when they tumbled into the couch. Bruce, with all of his glorious fat, curled up on Steve’s lap, like a cat.

“Love you, Stevie,” Bruce sighed into Steve’s neck.

Steve chuckled and stroked Bruce’s curls. “Love you too, Porkpie,” he whispered back. Tony kept giving them both cups of water until Bruce finally passed out. But the next day both Tony and Steve stayed with him in the bathroom as he puked, entertaining him with all the crap he’d done the night before. Insult to injury? Tony snapped a picture of him and Steve cuddled together, and made it his phone’s wallpaper.

**

The third time? Well…

“Steve, I…I don’t think so,” Bruce said. He sort of wanted to, but the idea of it…“I just don’t think I’d be comfortable.”

“Okay,” Steve said. But Bruce knew he wasn’t really okay.

“I’m not a toddler, Steve.”

“I know, Bruce.”

“I’m a grown man…and, I’m, like, twice as heavy as you.”

Steve smiled a little, but his expression was too sad. “Bruce, I already said it was okay. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Bruce huffed, pouching out his already rounded cheeks. “I mean, maybe. Maybe, as long as it’s comfortable.”

Steve held out his arms. “Whatever you want to do, muffin. Hug, or cuddle, I’m okay with either. I just need something today.”

“Yeah,” Bruce sighed. “I miss Tony, too.” He was supposed to be back that evening, back from his business trip overseas, but not having him nearby made them feel a little lonely, and sad.

Bruce paused a beat, but approached Steve slowly. He shook his head, trying to find a way on Steve’s lap that wouldn’t be weird, when Steve grabbed him and hugged him close anyway. Chuckling, Bruce realized he only needed to stretch out his legs, and lean against Steve’s chest. It really…it really was comforting.

“Better?”

Bruce’s breaths slowed as he settled into the deep timbre vibrating in Steve’s chest. “Better,” he agreed.

Steve turned on the television, to some sappy movie, but Bruce realized this space, huddled into Steve’s chest, made him feel safe. Safe, and loved. And yeah. Maybe he could get used to it.

Eventually it became a thing between the two of them - not an every day thing, but a thing when they needed the extra comfort. It was okay, though; Tony and Steve had a ‘thing,’ and he had a 'thing’ with Tony. But now, finally, he could say that he and Steve had their own, unique comfort ritual. And Bruce loved him all the more for it.


	7. The One Where Tony and Steve Celebrate Bruce's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How do Tony and Steve celebrate Bruce's birthday?"_
> 
> _**Bruce isn’t a huge fan of birthday rituals, but Steve and Tony sort of get away with it.** _

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Tony shrugged, and leaned against the kitchen island. “If it’s a party? Pretend he’d like it when he really wants to run and hide. You know how he feels about big gatherings. And if it’s his birthday? Forget it.”

“Well, we can’t just ignore it.”

Tony tapped his lip. “Hm. I have an idea. It might work, and it might just satisfy everyone.”

**

Bruce was already grumpy when he woke up, and decided not to make things worse on either Tony or Steve. He got up early, showered, and headed for the lab, determined to stay all day, if necessary. He figured he’d have to attend some kind of ridiculous party-thing later, but for now he could relax and dive into his back burner projects; they’d take him out of his head, for a while. Anything, so he wouldn’t have to think.

But when he activated his monitor, he rolled his eyes; there was already some “Happy Birthday, Bruce!” display from end to end, with rather ornate gifs of both Steve and Tony pointing to an OPEN ME tag, attached to a decorated box.

He sighed deeply. “Might as well get it over with,” he thought, clicking it. He guessed it was an invitation or something equally garish. 

But it wasn’t.

“Well, look at that,” he murmured. Filling his screen were cards declaring, “In lieu of a party or gifts, Dr. Bruce Banner would be honored if you donate to the following charities” and a list of Bruce’s favorite charities paraded across the screen. Attached to the charities were lists of people who donated in his name, and he smiled at each one. There were literally dozens of people, people he didn’t think even remembered him because it’d been so long ago, and many had small notes preceding their donation amounts. He chuckled, seeing Rick Jones’ name as well as Erik Selvig’s. And his smile turned a little wistful at Betty’s signature; she wrote that she was well, and included a picture of her and Dr. Sampson skiing in the Alps. 

He kept reading and re-reading the notes and pictures, and he couldn’t help grinning the rest of the day; it was perfect.

Later that evening, Tony and Steve did have a party for him, but a very private one. Getting the cake stains out of the sheets, though, had been a pain in the ass.


	8. The One Where Bruce Chooses "Date Night"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Do Tony, Steve, and Bruce have a set 'date night' if so what do they do on that night?_
> 
> _**Having one night a week is almost impossible to coordinate with their contrasting schedules (what with superheroing and sciencing and businessing and all). But their goal is at least once per month, and they will make sure their schedules are clear of anything that day, regardless.** _

Last month, Steve chose the New York Historical Society Museum & Library. Tony thought he’d bored out of his mind, but Bruce chastised him. “It’s Steve’s turn to pick,” he’d said, “and you’re not going to ruin this for him.” Tony’d rolled his eyes but he didn’t complain further. In the end, they were both glad to share the time with Steve. And it had been very personal for him; it had been the last weekend of a World War II exhibit that featured a number of men he’d had known, but lost track of.

The month before that had been Tony’s turn, and both Steve and Bruce had vetoed his ideas.

“Coney Island?”

“Too many people.”

“Brooklyn Fare?”

“Paparazzi.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You know what? I’m just gonna surprise you both. Clear your schedules for next weekend, and bring a few changes of clothes. Beach clothes.”

Bruce and Steve both worried Tony would take them to some crazy place with a lot noise and atmosphere, but when they got on his private jet, he just smiled at them. “Trust me,” he said, and he took both of their hands, kissing them tenderly.

They didn’t know he owned a private resort near the Keys. He originally planned it for an anniversary gift, but he figured date night was a good enough time to test it out. For the entire weekend they wined and dined, and soaked up the sun, with no one for miles around (except for the extremely discrete waitstaff). And it was heaven.

But when Bruce’s turn came, the scientist had no idea what they should do. It was tough, because his default mindset was making sure both Tony and Steve could enjoy themselves. It was easy for him to say “whatever you want to do is fine with me,” because really, he loved being with them, and he trusted that neither of them would steer him towards something he’d hate.

But neither Tony nor Steve were having any of that nonsense.

“It’s _your_ day,” Steve pressed. “It’s not what I want, or even Tony wants. It’s all you, Bruce. Let us spoil you.”

“There’re a few TED talks on the schedule for the month,” Tony reminded him. “You’ve always mentioned that you wanted to go to one of those.”

Bruce shrugged half-heartedly. Yeah, he sort of did want to go to one, but he didn’t want to bore Steve to infinity and beyond. Plus, the other reason he didn’t want to go was entirely his own problem; he’d gained so much weight that he felt he’d be more of a spectacle amongst his former peers - especially among those who knew him, way back when. Which was funny, because really, they’d be more interested in the Hulk nonsense. But he’d have to ease into his feelings of body positivity among those he once knew. So.

“I don’t think I’m interested in going to a TED talk this week,” he said quietly. Tony shot him a stern look, but didn’t press him, thank God.

“Fine,” Tony sighed. “Anyway. I anticipated that you’d couldn’t decide, so here’s a bunch of things around town this weekend,” he said, shoving a handful of fliers in Bruce’s hands. “If it makes you feel any better, both Steve and I are okay with any of these events. But one of these days, you’re gonna have to choose on your own, without our help.”

He bumped foreheads with Bruce and gently kissed him. “We love you, We love everything about you. And we want you to have fun, too.”

Bruce sighed. They left him to decide, but he honestly didn’t know what to pick. He spread the fliers on the break table and viewed them absently. They might’ve been okay with these things, but he wasn’t sure he w–ohh. Oh, wait.

A small smile pinked the corners of his lips. They’d never expect it of him, but yeah. He’d always wanted to go to one of these, too. From his earliest memories.

He came into the media room waiving one of the fliers, chuckling as Tony and Steve argued over something on the television. “Okay. I figured out what I wanted to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony reached for the flier, but Bruce yanked it to his chest before he could see.

“Only,” he told Tony, “if we can get a privacy booth, or boxed seats.”

“Of course we can,” Tony said, making a face. “How else would you do it? In and out, no muss, no fuss. No one’ll know we were there. Now c’mon Banner,” he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. “Where’re we goin’ and what’re we doing?”

“This,” Bruce said, grinning. Both Steve and Tony looked at the flier, and laughed. But not at him; his choice delighted them both.

**

Tony and Steve shared a grin at Bruce’s enraptured face. Tony nudged Steve quietly. “He looks like a little kid,” he murmured in Steve’s ear.

“Yeah, he does. He’s loving it. But I know the two of you’ll probably try deconstructing it all, when we get back home,” Steve said, shaking his head.

Tony shrugged. “Maybe. But for now, I think he’s just gonna take it as is, and enjoy it for what it is. For the kid in him, who missed it.”

“Mm.” Steve smile turned wistful.

Bruce hadn’t had a lot of great childhood memories - none of them really did, but something like this could bring out the kid in all of them and help heal past hurts.

“Whoa - whoa! Guys! How’d…that’s incredible. Amazing!” Bruce actually jumped up with the rest of the crowd as the final act brought the crowds to their feet. He clapped and whistled and hooted right along with them, and Tony and Steve shared another smile. From here on out, they’d make sure to have tickets to The Illusionists whenever they were in town. And they’d start finding other magic shows in the area, just so they could see the wild abandon and joy on Bruce’s face, each time.


	9. The One Where Bruce's Date Night is Ruined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Have Tony, Bruce, and Steve ever had a date interrupted by the villain of the week?_
> 
> **_Once, but they knew it had to happen eventually._**

Steve had created the on-call system for emergencies, so no one Avenger would have to have his (or her) plans canceled due to some crisis or another. And in case things were really hectic there was an “all-call” feature where everyone who was available could come help. But the all-calls were few and far between, and Steve - and the rest of the Avengers - often had advanced warning and eyes-in-the-skies when they knew an all-call was coming.

This time, though, the on-call Avenger was sick, on the exact day of their date night.

_“I’m so sorry, Cap,”_ the person on the line wheezed. _“Y'know I’d be on if I could–”_

“Don’t worry about it. Get some rest.” He held back the phone away from his ear, and waved at Tony and Bruce who paused at the door. _Go on,_ he mouthed. _I’ll catch up._ They both shot him a look, but did as he asked. 

“Forward the emergency page to my phone–yes, I know, but it’s easier this way.” He didn’t feel like ruining someone else’s night. Bruce and Tony wouldn’t be happy about it (especially since the tickets had been so hard to get) but they didn’t really have a choice.

Besides, what were the odds that something would happen _tonight?_

**

Apparently, Murphy’s Law had it in for him.

In the middle of DiDonato’s solo, they all heard the vibrating buzz-buzz on Steve’s leg.

“You’ve got to be kidding me–!” Tony whispered it fiercely, but Bruce squeezed Tony’s leg to silence him, as if he were shouting across the theater.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered back just as fiercely. He glanced at his phone and moaned internally; it couldn’t be a petty criminal, oh, no. _Rhino._ The damn Rhino was robbing a bank in midtown.

“Steve,” Bruce whispered quietly. “We didn’t have to go if you were on-call tonight. We could’ve changed the tickets–”

“No, I know, Bruce. I know. The on-call person got sick, though–” God, he wished a metahuman with an advanced immune system had been on-call “–and I took back up because it was too late to find anyone else. I’d hoped, though…” He sighed heavily. “Sorry, guys. I have to take care of the goddamn Rhino. There’s no reason why you two shouldn’t stay, though. I mean, it was Bruce’s time to choose, and–”

Tony and Bruce were already standing. “Nope,” Tony said. “It’s either all or none. Besides, it’ll be quicker if we take care of him together. I’ve got my suit. Bruce, go on back. We’ll come back in short order and do something else. Maybe take in a movie.”

But Bruce’s dark laugh surprised them. “Oh, no. No, you’re not skipping out on me this time.” He cracked his thick knuckles and slipped his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, while a determined and annoyed green expression flashed across his features. “I have a bone to pick with him. He messed up my night, and I want to let him know how badly.”

“Uh, oh.”

“Damn right, ‘uh, oh.’ ”

The morning edition of the Daily Bugle wasn’t sure if they caught the quote correctly, but Tony and Steve knew they had: 

_Bystander states Hulk roared, “Rhino pay! Rhino ruined Hulk’s date!” while smashing criminal repeatedly into the pavement. Iron Man and Captain America did not intervene, but damage remained minimal. Rhino currently in federal custody with broken leg and two missing teeth._

From then on, though, Steve made sure he had different backups and secondary backups during the trio’s date nights.


	10. The One Where Bruce Grieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Is there anything that Steve and Tony do that can put a smile on Bruce's face when he's starting to get sad?_
> 
> _**Yes, as long as they get to him soon enough. Bruce is remarkably adept at hiding how he feels until it’s too late, and he’s mired in it. But Tony and Steve are discovering ways of getting to him before that happens.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Not exactly sure of the date of this tragedy, so I’m going with the flow here/also, sort of went another route with this prompt...

“Tony… _Tony_!” 

“Mmpf.” Tony buried his head deeper under the pillow and tried to ignore the elbow poking his side. “It’s too f’kin’ early. Sleep now. Talk later.”

Steve jabbed him with his finger. “It’s the fourteenth of September.”

Tony mumbled something else, but Steve was counting down. Seconds from now, Tony’d get it. He’d hear what he’d said, and–

“Wait.” 

And there it was.

Tony popped up from beneath the pillow, looking disheveled and sleep-mussed, but his eyes were dead on Steve now. “The fourteenth? Of September?”

Steve nodded.

Tony anxiously glanced around the bedroom. “Where’s Banner?”

Steve waved his hand absently. “He obviously slipped out before we woke up.”

“You know,” Tony said, making a face at him. “You’re too damn snarky without your morning cup of coffee.”

“Could say the same for you.” Steve threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom. “We can’t let him squirrel away like he did last year,” he said. Tony heard the toilet seat slam against the porcelain tank. “By the time we figured it out–”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted. “I know.” Bruce didn’t Hulk-out, but they’d found him on the roof curled up in a blanket, staring across the city. His eyes had been too damn red, even though he told them “nothing was wrong” like a lying son of a bitch. Yeah, something sure was the hell wrong. But all he did was snort in a tissue, claiming a non-existent cold, and crawled to bed. He and Steve tried coaxing him out of it, but his mood lasted a couple days. And then he pretended as if nothing happened.

But Tony did a little digging after the fact which Bruce would’ve hated, but he had to know. And then he saw the date. And the newspaper article coinciding with the date. And he let out a litany of swears, because he should’ve known. He and Steve should’ve known.

He sure as fuck would not make that mistake twice. He and Steve spoke about it privately, and had a contingency plan. For today.

For right now.

“Jarvis,” he said. “Is Bruce in the tower?”

“Yes, sir. He’s currently in the basement lab, and has been there for several hours.”

“Since when?”

“2 am, sir.”

Tony swore quietly. “Steve,” he called. He heard Steve spit into the sink. “He left after you and I fell asleep, then he snuck down to his lab. He’s been down there all night.”

“Damn. Okay, Stark. You know what we need to do.”

**

Bruce wasn’t exactly focused on anything at the moment, but he wanted to pretend he was. Tony and Steve would assume he caught the Science Bug (as he and Tony both did, occasionally) and wanted to work out a problem. And he supposed he did, in some sense. Except this problem would never work itself out.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, and stared at the blurred lines on the monitor. No, he’d keep going. He had to fight his exhaustion. Stopping would be…disastrous.

“Hey, Brucie.” Bruce made a small noise, and didn’t turn around.

“I’m kind of busy right now, Tony.” He flipped something on the virtual screen, but he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t see straight.

He grunted when Tony wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed until he turned. “Let’s do this instead,” Tony murmured. “Let’s put down the toys, and go to this new botanical garden Steve found. It’s the perfect weather for it.“

Bruce shook his head. “I won’t be much company, Tony. Besides, this can’t wait. You two go. I’ll…I’ll be fine.”

Tony sighed heavily. “Can’t do that. I already bought the tickets, and Steve won’t go unless you go. I’d hate to waste them.”

Bruce ground his teeth, hating the idea of going out today, but he didn’t want Tony to waste his money, either. As rich as Tony was, Bruce still hated waste of any sort. “It can’t be more than a few hours,” he told him sternly. “I have to get back.” _Have to keep trying to do this so I don’t think. Not today. I can’t today._

“Sure,” Tony agreed. “I promise. Only a few hours. C'mon, jump in the shower, big guy, ‘cause you’re in your jammies. You never Science in your jammies. That’s rude.”

Bruce looked down; he hadn’t realized it. “Yeah, okay.”

“Meet us in the garage in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Bruce said automatically. But he missed the look of concern on Tony’s face as he trudged to the elevator.

**

Tony seriously went all out, which surprised him, but enjoying himself? That was the second surprise. “Mm, this is nice,” Bruce sighed. He was between Tony and Steve, and they’d decided to take a carriage ride through Central Park to get to the gardens. It was a bit of a squeeze, what with Bruce’s size and all, but Tony apparently rented the biggest carriage in the park so they could all share one seat. During the ride, Bruce alternated resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, and then Tony’s.

“Good,” Steve said. “Glad you’re liking it.” He squeezed his hand under the carriage blanket, and Tony kissed his head.

“We’re almost there,” Tony said.

“I dunno if I can move,” Bruce admitted sleepily. “I didn’t get much rest last night, and this is really comfortable.”

Tony glanced Steve’s way. “Well,” he said. “We don’t have to spend a lot of time there. Then we can come back, and maybe the three of us can take a nap, or something, before dinner.”

“Mm.”

Fortunately, the carriage stopped just a few feet from the private gated garden, so Bruce didn’t need to stumble far. He was sleepy, but it was a good sort of sleepy, like being wrapped in a homemade quilt. He wished the feeling would last the rest of the day, but he knew better. 

“Just a few more steps, Muffin.” Bruce half-snorted, too tired to chastise Steve for using pet names in public. He watched as Tony spoke in low tones with the attendant, whose demeanor brightened when he glanced their direction. _Probably recognizes Captain America,_ Bruce thought dully. It wasn’t a nice thought, but the cold had begun overtaking him again, and he didn’t feel like being civil anymore. 

“Right this way, sirs,” the attendant announced. He opened the wrought iron gate with a flourish, and ushered them inside. Immediately, Bruce was hit with the most enticing scents, and he became wistful; she would have liked this. A lot. And he couldn’t shake the memory; it buried deep into his core, threatening to overtake him and infect him with sadness. But he’d let it. That’s what the day was for, after all, right?

“Bruce, wow. Look.”

He breathed deep, seeing a collection of roses that were entirely and impossibly green - as green as the Hulk. He chuckled a bit at the irony, and observed them a little; were they bred this way, or dyed…? He couldn’t tell.

The garden, though, was so full of sights and smells and the bushes and underbrush were thick enough to muffle the sounds of the street. Everywhere he turned he saw something new, and it was enough to forget himself, for a time. His initial upset gradually lifted, and he smiled more; a Monarch butterfly floated across his fist, gently folded its wings to him by way of greeting, and flittered away. It was the perfect place for a thinker like him, or others like him.

Yes, he thought, smile faltering. She would have liked this place, very much.

“Ah, Bruce,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “There’s one more thing you need to see.”

Steve grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the exit, while Tony followed on his heels. “They still need to put the signage out front,” Tony explained. “But they finished the indoor plaque ahead of schedule.”

Bruce was about to disappear into his mind again; this was a lot to take in, and his memories were threatening to crush him. He just needed some time alone, now. He wanted to sleep for a few days, until he felt whole again. But Steve was pulling his arm, even as Tony tilted his chin.

“Look up, Pooh bear,” he said quietly. 

Bruce blinked. And maybe Steve and Tony gave him space, as his trembling fingers traced over the plaque, and it’s inscription: _Rebecca Banner Memorial Gardens._

“Oh, my God,” Bruce whispered as tears fell from his eyes. “Oh, my…” He choked back a sob as both Steve and Tony embraced him in a hug. He was weeping openly, but his tears were also ones of joy. Because others would come, and others would remember his Mom as fondly as he did.

“We knew you couldn’t be alone, Bruce,” Steve whispered, fingering his curls. “You don’t ever have to suffer in silence. Not with us.”

“Nah,” Tony said, agreeing. He used his thumb to spread Bruce’s tears across his cheek. “Don’t try to hold it in, man. We’ve got you. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Th-than…” he couldn’t get the words past his choked sobs.

But it was good. They stayed for an hour in the gardens, while Bruce reminisced and shared the good times, the positive things, with his lovers; who Rebecca Banner was, and how she was a hero in his eyes.

From then on, Bruce treated the day fondly. He could go to his mother’s memorial garden and pretend she was listening in this new, hallowed place. And by his sides, always, were Tony and Steve, eager to hear about the woman who had been such an influence in his life. He wasn’t alone anymore, and he was free. And he could finally send the ghosts of his past to their well-deserved rests.


	11. The One Where Bruce Catches a Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How would Tony and Steve react if Bruce caught a cold?"_
> 
> _**Probably like mother (father) hens…** _
> 
> ((Note: Personal headcanons and dubious Hulk science, ahoy!))

“Bruce, just do it, okay?”

“Demmit, Dony, I seb –eh…eh-eh- _SCHEW_ –I’m _bine_ , ged-demmit!”

“Uh, huh. Yeah. You sound really awesome.” He grabbed the tissue box from Bruce and held them over his head where Bruce couldn’t reach. “You’re sick, and you need a doctor.”

Bruce glared at him, but since his glasses were askew from his last sneeze, he wasn’t exactly menacing. “I _em_ a buggin’ dogder!” He yelled. “An’ I don’ deed enybuddy. I’m bine. Now gimme back by bugging tissues!”

Tony bit back his laugh at clogged-up Bruce, and used Bruce’s tissue box as a stern pointing device. “You’re not fine, and you’re not a valid medical doctor. So if you wanna feel better but refuse to see a _real_ medical doctor–” Bruce stuck his tongue out at him “–then you need to _change_. You know that.”

“Em not turnding indo Hulk for a dinking code!”

Tony rolled his eyes at him. “Stubborn jackass.” He pushed the tissue box back into Bruce’s hands. “Fine, go to bed, then. Don’t…get all your wacky psycho germs on me.”

_“Bine!”_

“Fine!”

Bruce’s bedroom door slammed while Steve entered the main room, scowling. His hands were full as he balanced a huge tray full of food and a jug of orange juice. “Tony, don’t make him mad, it’s not his fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Tony folded his arms and glared at the door. “He Hulks out, and all his troubles end. Who wouldn’t want that?”

Steve struggled with the doorknob. “He only turns into Hulk for emergencies, Tony, and he wants it to stay that way. So don’t push him into changing, just because you want him to feel better– _tsk_. Hey, help me here!”

Tony made a strangled noise in his throat and grabbed the juice from Steve. He made a face at all the food on the tray. “Steve, yes, he’s fat. But not even Bruce can choke down all of that food.”

“Of course not,” Steve murmured. “It’s for me, and for him - and _you_ , if you want to keep him company while he gets over this.”

“Germs, Steve.”

“Yep.”

“Weird cold bugs.”

“Yeah.”

“Snot and sick and stale smells…”

“That too. So. You coming in, or what?”

Tony huffed. “Of course I am. I’m not that big of an asshole.”

He opened the door, and he and Steve helped nurse Bruce back to health. And of course, both Steve and Bruce returned the favor, when Tony ended up with Bruce’s head cold.


	12. The One Where New Traditions Are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Do Steve, Tony, and Bruce have any traditions or anything that they always have to do together?"_
> 
> _**They haven’t been together long enough to have that many traditions, but Tony is fairly good with starting them.** _

“Toast?”

“Toast.”

“Toast…Uh, Tony, how many–”

He held up a hand, stilling Steve’s concern. “Fifth, and last, Steve. Promise. It won’t be a repeat of last year.”

Bruce snorted a little as he sipped from his champagne glass. To be fair, considering he’d barely drunk anything at all, he and Tony were probably on the same level of mellow. “That was…a serious train wreck.”

Tony wrinkled his nose. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, slipping his spectacles down the bridge of his nose so he could glare at him properly, “you couldn’t stand. We had to carry you to bed. Steve had to sit on you so you wouldn’t get up for more alcohol.”

He made a noise. “Okay. It was bad. But I made good on my resolution, didn’t I?”

Bruce nodded and took a small drink. “That you did.”

“And we’re proud of you for that,” Steve said quietly. He clinked his glass against Tony’s and Bruce’s and sipped from his glass. There really wasn’t anything in the champagne to alter his mood, but he liked the bubbles and the taste. “Either of you making resolutions this year?”

Bruce shook his head. “Resolutions are too easily broken,” he said. “And really, any time could be a good time for a resolution. It doesn’t have to be New Years.’”

“True,” Steve admitted. He glanced over the terrace, where the last of the fireworks had died down for the night. It was nearly 1 am and the party had wound down, and each of them received their New Years’ kiss…but he wanted more from the celebration; something uniquely theirs, as a trio. 

“What do you think we should promise for each other, then? For the year?”

“Hm, good question,” Tony said. He leaned back on his elbows and stretched across the blanket they’d brought from inside. “If I promise something for you guys, it’s gotta be good. And something I can keep.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed quietly. He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “I guess I can agree to tell you guys when something’s bothering me, before I let it get to me. I’m bad at that.”

Steve smiled and squeezed his arm, while Tony gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And I’ll promise,” Steve murmured, “to not assume that I need to be ‘in charge’ all the time, or make decisions that affect the three of us, without asking.”

“That’s not really a huge problem, Steve,” Tony shrugged.

“No, it is,” Steve said, sipping his champagne. “It’s why you and I fight so much. And as fun as we make it, it can be stressful for our partnerships.”

Bruce smiled a little and saluted the men with his glass and Tony grunted, half-agreeing. “Well. I guess if you’re being the better men,” Tony said, sighing dramatically I _could_ say I promise to be as handsome throughout the year as I am today.”

Both Steve and Bruce rolled their eyes, but only Bruce laughed at him. “Be serious Tony,” he snickered, finishing off his champagne. He reached for the bottle, to refill it a little.

“Okay, okay.” Tony looked down at his fingers, searching for the words that made him uncomfortably vulnerable. “I promise,” he said lowly, “to love you both unconditionally, and with every part of me. To celebrate your differences and to cherish you and be there during the sad times. And to put away my pride once in a while, to make sure I’m emotionally available to you both, no matter what.”

Steve and Bruce were stunned to silence as Tony polished off his drink, and stared at the dregs in his flute. 

Bruce spoke first, after taking a long sip from his drink. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered. “And sounds suspiciously like–”

“Yeah,” Tony said, nodding. He still wasn’t looking at them.

“Really?”

He smirked, and gently gazed into both of their eyes. “Yeah.”

Steve nuzzled Tony’s side. “I promise, too,” he murmured, kissing Tony’s cheek.

“And me,” Bruce responded. He took Tony’s hand and squeezed it.

They decided to make it an annual thing, to repeat those words, those vows, to one other. To remind them of who they were in each others’ eyes.


	13. The One Where Bruce Moderates Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Do the boys watch movies together? Like a movie night when they aren't busy."_
> 
> **Oh, absolutely, although it’s very tough for them to agree on one.**

Steve held up his hands as they argued over the next scifi movie they should see. “No, I don’t want to see Spielberg. The best Spielberg films began in, if I’m correct, the mid-1970s, and I’m still getting through the mid to late 1960s. I don’t want to go out of order.”

Both Bruce and Tony groaned. “Steve… _Steve_! It’s _okay_ to go out of order! Seriously, the Apocalypse won’t happen if you take one effing step out of your comfort zone!”

Bruce sighed. “Tony has a point. I mean, I like classics as much as the next guy–”

“–but all we’ve seen are fuckin’ classics for the past three weeks!” Tony interrupted. “Or documentaries. Or things from the stone age!” Tony threw up his hands as he angrily paced the room. “At this rate, we won’t see anything good for five years!”

Steve folded his arms, as sturdy - and as stubbornly set - as a brick wall. “I’m sorry. I just started watching Star Trek, thanks to Bruce, and all the fancy gadgets are just…” he shrugged angrily. “I need time to process all of the CGD, okay?“

“CGI!” Tony roared. “C-G- _fucking_ -I, I swear–!”

“Hold on, _hold on_. Calm down.” Bruce had to say that to them as well as for himself. He felt his own blood pressure rising, and they certainly did not need a Hulk incident over a dumb movie argument.

And to be really ugly about it, Steve knew better, and Bruce knew that, too. Steve _did_ see films “out of order” as he put it (he’d heard, on good authority, that Steve had seen _Westworld_ ), but right now Steve was pissed at Tony for some reason or another, and decided to dig in his heels like an angry terrier.

On another level Bruce got it; Steve was an artist of all forms, and seeing the transitions of art, and what influenced it, was important to him. Seeing an award winning movie from the 2000s might be the equivalent of seeing Picasso jump from Realism to Cubism, without understanding why. 

But he didn’t think that was the reason, in this case. Bruce cocked his head at Tony. “Kubrick, Tony. Some of Kubrick’s best stuff was the 60s.”

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it, and stroked his chin. “Yeah. Hm… _Dr. Strangelove_?”

Bruce smiled slightly. “Steve,” he said, turning to the man. “Have you seen _Dr. Strangelove_?”

“Or for the true geeks among us,” Tony interjected, “ _Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb_.”

Steve’s lip quirked. “That’s the actual name of the movie?”

“Yep,” Bruce said. “It was nominated for Oscars for Best Picture, Director, and Writer…but it didn’t actually receive one in those categories. It came out earlier, though, in ‘64.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said. And in Bruce’s eyes, it looked like his anger had finally turned from boiling over to a small smolder, thank God. “If the title’s as good as the movie, I’ll survive.”

“Finally,” Tony huffed. “Brucie, cue it up. I’ll make the popcorn.”

After Tony left, Bruce gave Steve a stern look. “So what was it about?”

Steve shrugged petulantly and examined his fingers. “He said something about Bucky a few hours ago. I…didn’t respond to it well. He apologized, but I guess I’m still steamed.”

Bruce snorted, and planted a small kiss on Steve’s temple. “Captain Rogers, you hold grudges for way too long.”

Steve gave Bruce a crooked smile. “Sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bruce’s grin faded to a small smile. “He’s jealous, you know. Over you and Bucky.”

Steve frowned, and looked Bruce in the eye. “But I’m with you guys.”

“But he’s still jealous, Steve. When you talk about him like you do, well…” Bruce sighed. “I think it makes him feel as if you wished he were here, instead of Tony.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, no! I’d never…that’s not it. Not at all.”

Bruce tilted his chin. “Well, tell him that. Let him know more often, okay? You know how insecure he can get about things.”

Steve grunted. “He’s gotta know that’s not how it is. I mean, you understand, right?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I do now.”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it softly. “You never said anything, Bruce.”

“Well,” Bruce sighed, shifting in his seat. “I have a lot of insecurities, too. But unlike Tony, I just…sort of internalize them.”

Steve groaned and leaned his head against the back of the couch. “God, I can’t believe how much I messed up. I’m sorry, Bruce. I’ll apologize to Tony too, later. I…I was just talking about him. I didn’t notice how it might’ve affected you guys.” 

“Hey,” Bruce said softly. Steve opened one eye, and Bruce motioned for him to snuggle close. Steve sighed, and lay his head across Bruce’s large belly, “It’s okay, Steve. Really. It’s just part of us getting to understand how each of us feels. But now you know, and I know…and like I said, talk to Tony. It’ll work itself out.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. And right then, Tony entered the room with a rolling cart teeming with popcorn, multiple candy snacks, and drinks for them all.

He smirked at the two of them. “Is it ‘use Bruce as a pillow’ night?” He pulled the cart of popcorn and snacks up to the couch. “Because I’m totally down for that. Scooch, Steve,”

Bruce chuckled. “I’m big enough for both of you,” Bruce said, even as Tony grabbed a box of Junior Mints, curled up on the opposite end of the couch, and lay his head across Bruce’s stomach. Steve laughed, as the tops of his and Tony’s head touched. 

“This is nice,” Tony said. “And eat some food, Bruce. I can hear your stomach growling.”

“Extra butter popcorn?”

“Extra butter,” Tony affirmed. “Now let’s watch this bad boy classic.”

Bruce ran one hand through Steve’s hair, letting him know with a touch that it was okay, and they watched the movie with little commentary from either Bruce or Tony. And later, when all the snacks had been consumed and the movie had ended, Bruce took the time to clean up while Steve and Tony talked.

He smiled a little to himself. Yeah. They’d make it.


	14. The One Where Steve Loses His Temper With the Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How protective of Bruce does Steve get?"_
> 
> _**Very. He gets protective of Tony, too, but there’s something about Bruce that brings out “that kid from Brooklyn.”** _

“Steve,” Bruce sighed, polishing his glasses. “It’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

“No, it ain’t,” Steve scowled. His Brooklyn accent came to the fore, which only happened when he was exhausted, or furious. The poor paparazzi photog had shrunk under Steve’s intense glower, stumbling over the pieces of camera Steve had slammed to the ground.

“You thought it was funny, huh? Making ‘fat’ jokes at his expense, while you crammed your lens in our faces? Well, jokes on you, you’ve got a busted camera, _asshole_.”

Bruce cringed and hung back, as people began whipping out their cellphones from every direction.

“And here’s something for all youse, if you want somethin’ on film,” Steve shouted to the crowd. 

Bruce let out a small squeak, as Steve hauled him close, and reenacted the famous WWII kiss, with Steve as the sailor, and Bruce as the nurse. Bruce heard a lot of gasps and words, but he wasn’t paying much attention as he melted into the lip lock.

“Mmm…” Bruce whispered into Steve’s lips. “Tony’s gonna kill us.”

“So what,” Steve murmured back. They stayed that way for a few seconds longer, then got up and pushed their way past the stunned crowds.

By that afternoon, every paper around the country was calling it the “kiss heard ‘round the world.” Tony held his head in his hands when he saw it, but he immediately contacted his PR department who were able to spin it as a “publicity stunt, done out of spite.” And yes, Tony’s lawyers paid out $100,000 for the camera person’s equipment as well as “damages due to pain and suffering.”

Funny enough, Tony wasn’t really that mad. “Just make sure I’m there next time,” he told them. “ ‘Cause I wanna be in on those kisses."


	15. The One Where They Argue Over Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Would Tony, Steve, and Bruce ever get a pet? What would they get?"_
> 
> **_They probably would get a pet, if they could agree on one…_ **

“Dog,” Steve said immediately. “I always wanted a big, huge–”

“Nope, stop right there,” Tony said, holding up a hand. “There won’t be any big, huge anythings in my home. Unless, of course, we’re talking about my big, huge, hairy d–”

_“Tony.”_

“Umm, a cat?” Bruce interrupted, quickly sidestepping Tony and Steve’s argument. “I like dogs too, but they’re a lot of work. And if we all end up in a battle for a few hours, I’d hate for it to suffer. Or have an accident.”

Tony shuddered. “Ugh. No accidents - and no cats, either. They shed, their litter boxes stink, and when they’re mad they piss on your shit. No cats.”

“Birds?”

“Oh, no,” Steve grimaced. “There was this old lady where I grew up, who had a parrot. Feathers and bird poop everywhere. And mean.” He shivered. “I don’t think I could handle any pet birds.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “That leaves out most everything except rodents.”

Both Tony and Steve jointly shivered.

“Ookay, no rodents then. And with that, I’m crossing off ferrets, because they’re more problematic than cats, and I already know Tony wouldn’t like them. 

“Lizards?”

“No.”

“Snakes?”

“Nuh, uh.”

“Hermit crabs?”

Tony and Steve jointly wrinkled their noses.

“Then what the hell…oh, wait.” Bruce snapped his fingers. “I got it: _Fish_.”

Tony looked at Steve, and Steve shrugged affably. “Fish works,” he said, nodding.

“Yeah, I could do fish.”

Bruce let out a low, happy sigh. “Perfect. Then we can get–”

“Wait. Freshwater, or saltwater?”

“Fresh.”

“ _Salt_.”

Bruce threw up his hands. 

“Eels are badass!”

“But goldfish are simple, and easy to keep.”

“ _Goldfish_? Nature’s prey? Why the hell would you want goldfish when you could get something cooler?”

“I don’t want something cool, Tony, I want something simple–”

“Simple? Like your imagination?”

“Now, hold on–”

Bruce shook his head and headed for the kitchen for a snack. “Forget it,” he muttered while they argued. Again.


	16. The One Where the Boys Enjoy Some Down Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "What do the boys do in their free time?"_
> 
> **_“Free” time is sort of an odd term for them, because they’re usually working on some project or another. But when they have it they actually prefer spending it together, believe it or not._ **

At first Steve hated music other than jazz or blues, because the tunes beyond his era seemed so ridiculously discordant. But both Bruce and Sam helped ease him into the twentieth century’s musical styles so he could stomach some of the stuff, though the latest music still sounded a little weird to him. 

He learned to appreciate rock-and-roll’s roots under Sam and Bruce’s tutelage, though. Heavy metal, punk, and grunge took some getting used to, but funny enough, he’d really gotten into hip-hop. Maybe it was the poetry of it, or the full-body artistry he saw within it; he didn’t know - but he liked it just the same. Sam warned him that he should probably keep that nugget to himself, but Steve didn't see why he should.

Right now though, the Sex Pistols blared at slightly less than painful decibels, as Tony tinkered beneath one of his favorite roadsters ( _roadster? Was that term still in vogue?_ ). Steve, meanwhile, decided to forge a new path with paint. Last week he'd begun painting portraits to the rhythms of music, and the stylistic results intrigued him. His experiments were taking him to new artistic directions, and his art had begun evolving (into what he couldn’t say, but he enjoyed it, and enjoyed where the new musical pieces took his art). 

Luckily he’d decided to wear coveralls today, because his paint was nearly everywhere. Tony was getting a kick out of the mess, though, and he kept coming beneath his car to catch a glimpse of Steve’s creation. “That's pretty good,” he'd said, once or twice. “I’m gonna hang it next to the Monet, when it’s finished. No, better yet, I’ll put the Monet in a museum and put yours in it’s place. The Monet should’ve been in a museum ages ago anyway.”

Steve shrugged. “I'm not done with it yet, Tony. And I’m not even sure when I will be.”

“Doesn’t matter. I like it, and that’s that.”

It warmed Steve some, that Tony gave such praise for his newest experimental phase.

Bruce, on the other hand, had kicked up his feet in a corner of the garage, to sprawl across on the one couch comfortable enough to cradle his chubby form. He was also the subject of Steve’s painting, not that Bruce knew it yet; Bruce’s angles and curves treated Steve’s paintbrush to a symphony of hues, insights, and eureka moments. And if it were possible to call anyone a muse, Steve would've stuck that label on Bruce.

And then, as if hearing Steve's thoughts, Bruce’s nose came up from his book, and Steve’s cheeks warmed as he glanced at him.

Bruce removed one of the headphones from his ear. “Did you say something? Sorry–” he squinted at the ceiling. “Not much of a Sex Pistols fan these days.”

“No, I’m good,” Steve said, smiling shyly. “I just…um. You okay?”

Bruce returned his smile. “I’m fine. I’ve got Puccini on continual play, and these headphones are amazing. I could go for some lunch soon, though.”

“You and me both,” Tony said, sliding from beneath the car. How he heard them talking over his music was beyond Steve. “I feel like a buffet. Mexican? Italian?”

“Mexican,” Bruce agreed, and Steve nodded - not because he was hungry for Mexican food, but because he was imagining his next “Bruce” painting.

After a time, Steve realized his painting style had become quite modern, and Bruce would continually blush when he saw Steve’s work (even in Steve's new abstract style, he often recognized himself). When Steve asked Bruce if he was okay with being his “muse” during his latest spate of creativity, Bruce was more than thrilled.

Truthfully, it became the precursor to some of their best lovemaking sessions, to date.


	17. The One Where They Drive Each Other Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Is there anything that one of the boys does that drives the others crazy? (In a good way or a bad way)"_
> 
> _**You really can’t live with anyone for an extended period of time without finding things that drive you crazy…** _

“Ugh–! Tony! You…your damn greasy fingerprints are on the fridge handle again!”

“That’s what you get, Rogers!” 

Bruce ran a hand down his face. Here we go again, he thought. He scrounged around the kitchen until he found the bag of mint chocolate chip cookies. He promptly opened it up, and stuck two cookies in his mouth.

“You left two ounces of juice in the jug,” Tony fired back from the other room. “Two! Ounces! How many times have I said to order more when we’re down to two glasses’ worth?!”

“Well, excuse me for being thirsty!” Steve shouted, angrily wiping the refrigerator handle with a disinfectant wipe. “I put in the request yesterday, and I’m sorry the order didn’t come soon enough for his royal highness!”

“Why didn’t you just finish the fucking jug! I get empty. I don’t get when I want juice, and there isn’t enough to fill a shot glass!”

“Oh, cut it out!” Bruce was finally at his limit, and was done with the two of them and their arguing. “For once, just once, I’d like a quiet Saturday when no one bugs the hell out of me!”

There was a long pause, then a giggle from the other room. “Is he green?”

Steve was trying to hide his laugh but he wasn’t doing a very good job, and Bruce suddenly realized he’d been had. 

“Nope,” Steve said, grinning. “Not even a flicker. He looks ready to kick my butt, though.”

“I hate you guys,” Bruce muttered darkly. He grabbed the cookies and tromped out of the kitchen. “You know one of these days,” he spat over his shoulder, “your practical jokes won’t work, and I really _will_ Hulk out.”

Both Steve and Tony were still snickering, but he had the last laugh; he withheld sex from them for a full week.


	18. The One Where Bruce and Tony Wreck Steve's Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "What does Steve do when Bruce and/or Tony get into the working mode and lock themselves in the lab?"_
> 
> _**It works, to a point; Steve recognizes their shared differences and respects the scientist’s passions (he knew Howard Stark, after all), but he doesn’t like it when they accidentally ignore him.** _

Their world clashes with his, but he understands. His brain doesn’t work twice the speed of light and he doesn’t have a degree in physics or biology, or even a bachelor’s (though he’s considered finishing his degree). He understands when they get busy, and plot and plan like those two cartoon mice he’d seen on that one show. But liking it? No. Not always.

Especially during _his_ date night.

“Jarvis…”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Jarvis said, sounding as exasperated as Steve felt. “Sir has placed me on ‘mute’ within the garage, and he and Dr. Banner expressly wished to remain undisturbed through the duration of the afternoon.”

“I get it,” Steve sighed. “But the game begins in…” He softly swore beneath his breath. “The game _started_ eight minutes ago.” His grimace deepened. “Never mind. Just…I’m gonna go out for a beer. If either Tony or Bruce–”

He suddenly heard a celebratory “Whoo-hoo!” beyond the lab walls, followed by collective laughter. “Glad someone’s having fun,” Steve huffed bitterly. He knew it was bad form to act as if someone owed him, but dammit, he felt…well, he felt disrespected. Cheated, even. But he’d get over it. He always did, right?

Steve heard more murmuring, and then–

“Seven-fifteen–?! Dammit, Tony, it’s already seven- _fifteen_!”

“ _What_? Jarvis, why didn’t you tell us?”

Jarvis conveniently let Steve listen in on the conversation. “I’m sorry, sir. You had put me on mute, and I was unable to remind you of the time.”

“Fuck…Jarvis, where’s Steve right now?”

“Currently, Sir, Captain Rogers is right outside your lab. Where he’s waited patiently for the past forty-five minutes.”

 _Ouch_. Steve thought, Jarvis sure knew how to twist the knife. A darker part of him shouted, “good!” but he, respectfully, did not voice it.

“Shit.”

Steve’s eyebrow rose a millimeter; that sounded suspiciously like Bruce.

Both Bruce and Tony slunk from the lab, looking as if they’d played in a chimney, save for the circles around their eyes, where their goggles previously rested. Bruce had shoved his goggles to his hairline, and Tony’s hung around his neck, but both were filthy beyond measure. Bruce and Tony caught Steve’s eye simultaneously, and at least carried a contrite air. Bruce opened his mouth, but he wasn’t the first to speak.

“Steve, hon’. I’m sorry. It was my fault. We got busy early this morning, and I should’ve–”

“It was my fault, too,” Bruce added. “I’m as guilty as Tony, and we know better, we really do.” He gazed at Tony cautiously. “We really messed up.”

“Yeah, you did,” Steve said, not sugarcoating a note. He watched his boys’ shoulders slump, but he shrugged. “Game day, gentleman. We missed the first pitch. And it’s World War II vets night, y'know,” he smirked softly. “Glad I didn’t agree to throw the opening pitch, ‘cause. Well. That would’ve been awkward.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, and he began rushing to the elevator. “We can still make most the game, though. We can…” he floundered, and motioned to Bruce, for support.

“I can be ready in ten minutes,” Bruce agreed. “We can be ready to go with a quick wash and change of clothes?”

“Sure,” Steve said, and he tried smiling, he honestly did. But his grin sagged, and appeared sickly. “Whatever you want.”

Tony and Bruce exchanged a look, and rushed upstairs to change, while Steve waited for them. He didn’t expect he’d be so sore about it, but whatever. His camel’s back ached from all the straw.

**

The Mets lost, but the game had its charm; he saw one older vet who clung to life; he’d been in a platoon Steve’d rescued from an internment camp, years ago (although it still felt like weeks). He spoke with him a little at the end, and blushed as the old vet gushed and fussed over him. 

Bruce and Tony hung back, giving him space and room. They’d barely spoken on the drive over, and apart from a few righteous cheers and discussions about how much better ballpark food had become, they really didn’t say much during the game.

“Huh. Glad to hear that ol’ Petey’s done well for himself,” Steve said, once he returned to the pair. “He’s got great-grandkids, and one of his greats is serving overseas right now. Funny how that works.”

Bruce swallowed. “Steve–”

“Don’t worry about it, Porkpie,” he murmured, and he softly kissed Bruce’s temple. “It’s not my world, I just have to make room for all the science you guys do. Give me a few days, and I’ll get over it.”

“You should worry about it, though,” Tony said, voice rough. “If anything, my judgment sucks. You should’ve been able to interrupt us, and…I forgot.”

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and squeezed softly, almost chuckling at how boyish and sad the two appeared. _Like I’d taken their toys back to the store after they’d acted up_ , Steve thought.

“It is what it is, Tony - and I know it won’t happen again. Shit happens.” And they half-snorted at his correct usage of modern slang. “But it’s part of figuring us out, right? Bruce once told me that. This time it was your guys’ lesson. Next time it might be mine, again. Important thing is, though, it’s fixable. It’s not permanent. And I still love you both. Yeah, I’m a little disappointed,” he said, holding up a hand when the two looked relieved (he wouldn’t let them off the hook quite yet), “but it’s something I won’t mind working out with you both.”

Later that evening, both Tony and Bruce gave Steve extra attention, and Tony went the extra mile to put together a WWII party at the tower, so Steve could see more of his old comrades. But Steve’s lesson hit home, and neither Tony nor Bruce made that mistake again.


	19. The One Where Steve Messes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Has Steve ever accidentally let down Tony and Bruce?_
> 
> **_He sort of has, like the time he talked about Bucky too much and made them jealous, or when he took another Avengers’ on call without telling them during Bruce’s scheduled date night…but he’s usually pretty good at dates, times, places and things. He’s the unofficial “time keeper” of the trio and his word is his bond, so to speak. Has he disappointed them? Maybe not so much. Frustrated or even frightened them? That’s another story._ **

“Bruce…”

“He said he’d be here, Tony.” But even Bruce shifted his feet a little. Steve never reneged on his promises, but maybe he had a lot on his mind. Bruce had hoped that he and Tony were on his mind, but maybe today…he licked his lips and slowly shook his head. “He would’ve called, if it was something serious. He’s only a little overdue.”

Tony folded his arms and side-eyed Bruce. “You really think so? You know how he is. In his mind he’s ‘late’ if he’s fifteen minutes early.”

“Hmm. True.” Bruce nibbled his bottom lip and removed the one lone candle on the cake before covering it and putting it back in the fridge. “Maybe we should check the news.”

Tony huffed. “That’s what I’ve been saying for the past hour. Finally, he listens to me.”

“Shush,” Bruce gently admonished. Then he turned on CNN.

**  
The clean up took days; Falcon, Scarlet Witch and Ant-Man required minor medical attention for non-life threatening injuries. And Steve–

“You idiot!” Bruce stomped across the front of Steve’s hospital bed and snorted like an angry bull, while poking Steve’s direction with his glasses. “How dare you. How fucking dare you–”

“Bruce,” Tony sighed. Tony found himself in the uncomfortable “peacekeeping” slot, the slot Bruce usually held. Rarely had either of them seen Bruce this angry without becoming the Hulk, and they didn’t need him to go green. Especially not in a hospital. “Take deep breaths, okay? Steve’s fine.”

“You call this–” and he gestured wildly at Steve’s full leg in a cast and arm in a sling and broken jawbone and broken ribs and pierced lung and god knew how many lacerations and contusions “– _fine_? Do you really? ‘Cause I fucking _don’t._ ”

“Tony’s right.” Steve’s broken voice, barely whispered, caused Bruce’s steps to falter. “I’ll heal. Faster than normal. Be okay.” He coughed a little, and Tony placed a straw to his lips. Steve slowly sucked the water and nodded when Tony took away the straw. “It’s okay. We won.”

Bruce continued his enraged pacing, but kept his eyes to the floor. He took one, two very deep breaths - and the green pallor mimicking sickness (but really wasn’t sickness) faded a little from his cheeks. “We nearly lost you, Steve. You know that. So goddamn it, why didn’t you...why--”

He choked on the words and folded himself into a corner. He slid down a wall, unable to continue.

“Didn’t want to ruin our anniversary,” Steve said quietly. Bruce rolled his eyes and choked back a sob. “Didn’t think we needed the help.”

“You needed _him_!” Bruce hotly shouted. “I would’ve fucking changed if–”

“Bruce,” Tony snapped. Bruce worked his jaw and tore his glance away as angry tears dripped down his rounded cheeks. “Knock it off. You’re pissed, big guy, we get it.”

Bruce held his head in his hands and pulled back his hiccuping sobs while Tony sighed and turned to Steve. “And he’s not wrong,” he muttered. He took Steve’s one good hand and massaged the knuckles. "Could’ve been our anniversary gift to you, saving your life an’ all. Or at least saving you two weeks of hot nurses checking you out. ‘Cause that’s our job.“

Steve winced, mimicking a smile, but his broken jaw and half-swollen face made it tough. “Don’ make me laugh. Hurts. A lot.”

“Good,” Tony grumbled. “Hurt is better than dead. Remember how this,” he said, tapping his entombed leg, “feels. Because it doesn’t compare to what Bruce and I are goin’ through now. And we don’t want to fucking feel this way, ever again.” He lightly squeezed Steve’s hand and brought his lips close to Steve’s ear. “I know you were trying to save our lives by leaving us out of it,” Tony whispered. “I know what you did. But our lives would’ve meant shit without you, so don’t pull that goddamn stunt again. You call us, you get me? It’s all of us, or none of us.”

Tony pulled back, and glared at Steve until he knew the other man understood. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Steve said hoarsely. He sighed softly and tilted his chin in Bruce’s direction. “Take care of him for me, ‘k?”

Tony’s smile remained small, but wicked. “I’ll put five more pounds on him before you get out of here.”

Steve opened his mouth in silent laughter. “Good.” He let the pause linger between them, and they both watched as Bruce silently tried composing himself. “Dumb of me.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “But we’re all good at being dumb and learning lessons, right? That’s who we are. That’s what we do.”

“Yeah.”

**  
Two and a half weeks later, Steve left the hospital with a cane and a slight limp, as his body worked overtime to heal the broken bones. Bruce had apologized to him and Tony the day after his outburst, but they understood. Steve remembered the pain, as Tony said. And despite the risks, he followed through on Tony’s declaration: He made sure if the battle were big enough, they’d all be together. And they’d die together, if need be.


	20. The One Where Bruce Gets Stuck (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Has chubby Bruce ever gotten physically stuck anywhere?"_
> 
> _**The quick answer is yes. The long answer? Well…** _

The first time took him by surprise. His growing size didn’t bother him; the problem didn’t lie there. Rather, he hadn’t reconciled his previous weight with his current weight, and thereby he received the first (of many) rude awakenings.

Tony’s lab floor contained an electrical hatch for grounding wires, and the like. Tony loved clean work spaces without a lot of extraneous wires, and most everything ran on clean energy anyway, but he’d housed a few things beneath the floor and out of the way of foot traffic (Bruce suspected they were also escape routes from the tower, in a pinch). But once Bruce discovered the tunnels he used them infrequently, to either check on the conduits, or for his own personal amusement. The tunnels had a few human-sized crawlspaces where he could get away with a book, when he felt particularly antisocial.

Today, book in hand, Bruce eyed the hatch with a little trepidation. The last time had been a bit of a squeeze, but he couldn’t possibly have gained _that_ much more weight in a few months. Surely not.

**

“Sir,” Jarvis said. “Doctor Banner is requesting your immediate assistance.”

Tony shared a look with Steve. They’d just finished their workout, and Steve had been headed upstairs, but he paused at Jarvis’ declaration. “Is it serious?”

Jarvis paused. “Doctor Banner informed me that it isn’t an emergency, but it is lab related.”

Tony shrugged while Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay. Science then. Tell Bruce I’ll meet up with him after I shower.”

Another pause. “Doctor Banner would prefer if you came straight away.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “No, that doesn’t sound at all suspicious.”

“I know, right?” Tony made a face and headed down for the labs. “Maybe you should come along, just in case.”

*

It took eight minutes with their combined efforts to pry Bruce out of the crawlspace. And five of those minutes had been catching their breath from laughter.

But at least they made it up to him, with many belly rubs, and kisses across his sore tummy.

**

The second time, he had very little choice. Because Bruce headed one of Tony’s prestigious clean energy departments, he occasionally attended meetings with him around the country, and the world. The board members had been very kind in Japan, but Bruce’s size caught the arrangers off-guard. The chairs in the meetings had been less than ideal, but Bruce made it work by balancing on the chair edges and trying not to put his full weight on them. Fortunately, by the end of the second meeting, the admins had tracked down size-appropriate furniture. “For Sumos,” one aid stated helpfully; Bruce thanked him, but he still found it more than a little embarrassing.

The last night before the event, and the day before they needed to return, their hosts invited them for dinner at one of the best sushi restaurants in the city. Bruce’s eyebrow rose a little when the servers gave him huge portions of food - far more than the other guests. But Bruce continued cleaning his plate because he knew his hosts would find it insulting, if he left food. But even though their restaurant had a westernized theme, the chairs were smallish, and Bruce had forgotten about his bulk as the night continued.

When everyone had their fill (and Bruce had serious misgivings that his clothes buttons would survive the trek to their hotel), Tony called everyone a cab and promised their hosts the moon for treating them like kings (Tony may have been a little drunk. Well, more than a little).

“What’s wrong with you?” Tony asked, when he noticed Bruce still sitting.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m…stuck.”

“Stuck?” Tony repeated. He judged the chair’s sturdiness (he’d called ahead, for Bruce’s sake) and frowned down at him. “Whaddya mean, ‘stuck’?”

“I mean,” Bruce growled. “That I ate too much, and the chair molded to my ass.”

Tony blinked, then clutched his chest and howled and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks.

“Tony! It’s not–”

Bruce stopped in mid-rant and covered his eyes as the waitstaff came over, while Tony translated what happened in half-drunk Japanese. They all looked at Tony, then back at the Bruce, because apparently the event boggled their minds. More fast translations and a lot of pulling later, and Bruce was finally yanked free. But again, not without a lot of embarrassment.

**

The third time - and Bruce swore it would be the last - had been in Darcy’s clunker. “I love the shit out of this car,” she told him. He mostly clung to the seat for dear life, hoping that the bumps on the road wouldn’t fling him out her window (not that there was any chance of it happening, but the way she drove…).

Darcy slapped Bruce’s thigh and he jumped a little. “I’m so glad you took me up on my offer! This weekend’s gonna be great. A little music, a bit of wine, I’ll braid your hair with some flower crowns–”

“Please don’t,” Bruce sighed. He hadn’t expected Darcy’s love of music to extend into his tastes. And it was his own fault for complaining to Tony and Steve that their petty arguments had driven him batty (and his fault for mentioning the folk concert in deep-ass Pennsylvania, and how Tony told Darcy, another “huge fan” and she could totally drive to the venue, because she’d be visiting her aunt, and of course she’d pick him up from the Butler County airport–)

Bruce groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes as Darcy hit another pothole in the Pennsylvanian countryside. Just his luck he’d Hulk out from the stress.

“Look, look - _look_!” She banged on his arm and gestured to the colorful flags and tents heralding the outdoor venue. “See? And you were worried I’d get us lost.”

“Surprised you didn’t,” Bruce muttered beneath his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Let’s just…find a spot to park, and go in.”

“Okay.”

Darcy found a spot that afforded a decent view of the band’s mammoth projection screen, and he guessed it would look even better deeper in. But he rolled his eyes at her when she rolled down the driver’s window, and wiggled out like a 1950s greaser.

“You need a new car, Darcy,” he admonished for the fifth time that day.

“Meh. Not yet. I wanna save up for one, and this beauty still has some life in ‘im.” She tapped the roof, then scowled at some gunk that scraped off on her hand. 

Bruce sighed deeply. She wasn’t that bad of a driver, not really, But the pocked, checkered road and her illegal-to-drive-in-twenty-states car reminded him of why he hated road trips: her driver’s side door didn’t work properly, and the two seater’s motor whined like a banshee at speeds beyond 60mph. He’d been ready to read her the riot act over her car, but they were running late, and it didn’t make sense to rent a car and miss the concert. He knew once he told Tony about this, Darcy’d have a new car sitting in her driveway by the following week. She’d probably complain about it but better a safe car, than something that burst into flames when you stuck the key in the ignition. 

She hoped onto the tarmac. “Bruce, can you bring the picnic basket out with you? I loaded up on like six different kinds of sandwiches, and snacks, and cokes, and sweets, and everything.”

He groaned a little as he hefted the basket into the front seat. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what you’d like, and I wasn’t sure if I’d been in the mood for what I liked, so I just made doubles of tuna salad, egg salad, ham and cheese, turkey and Swiss, PB and J, and bologna. With American cheese.”

Bruce smirked. “I think you’ve guaranteed that neither of us will go hungry.” He unlocked his door to get out, and frowned. Hm. The passenger side was a little…sticky.

“Darcy,” he rumbled, pushing as hard as he dared. “Your passenger door’s stuck, too.”

“Oh, it does that, sometimes,” she told him, and she pulled the passenger side door as strongly as Bruce pushed. After a minute or two, she held up her hands and kicked the front tire in frustration. “Ugh. Piece of shit car.” She looked apologetically at Bruce, who ran out of optimism five minutes ago. “At least it’s not hot?”

He glared at her.

“Sorry. I’m guessing that last pothole did a number on the other door, too…shit,” she muttered, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay, roll down the window and hand me the basket. Then crawl through.”

“Crawl…through,” Bruce snorted. He threaded the basket to her and then rubbed his eyes with his thumb. “Darcy. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m bigger than the picnic basket. Much bigger.”

She opened her mouth, then frowned. “I…you can’t squeeze through?”

He counted to ten in his head. “I’m a big man, Darcy. Maybe you missed that fact on the way up here, but unless you want me to Hulk out and break your door, there is no way a man of my size will fit through your car door window.”

“Nuts,” she sighed. She paced in front of the car, nibbling her lip, and started a bit when the opening chords of the first act blared into the parking lot. “Cell phone? Maybe we can call a wrecker service, or something, and they can get you out.”

Bruce chuckled darkly. “Darcy. We’re in the middle of bum-fuck-all. Does your phone even get service out here?”

She checked. It didn’t.

Bruce laughed, despite the circumstances. One, because he’d started getting used to crazy situations like this. And two, of course it had to happen to him. Again. “Look, I’ll see if I can get Tony on my phone later. My phone signal’s stronger. Meanwhile, it’s cool enough, the view isn’t so bad, and I can still see the concert on the screen. So hand me a few sandwiches and chips and a soda, and I’ll watch from here.”

“I’m not going in without you, Bruce!”

“Oh, of course you’re not,” he smirked. “You’re staying with me, right here.” He didn’t hide the frustration in his voice, but well. It wasn’t that bad. And at least the company was good.

Darcy splayed out on the driver’s side hood, and fed Bruce sandwiches and sodas until the basket was light enough to heft back into the car, and then she joined him inside. It wasn’t a bad view, and the concert really did rock. And yes, after it ended, they drove to a more populated area and he got enough of a signal to tell Tony about it (and, of course, he laughed his ass off).

From then on, Bruce became a bit more cognizant of his surroundings as a bigger guy. Did he still get stuck sometimes? Occasionally. But he learned his size was par for the course, and not to be bothered by it.


	21. The One Where Bruce's Tux Doesn't Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Chubby Bruce trying to fit into clothes?"_
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> _Bruce has a terrible habit of not noticing how his clothes fit, whether too loose, or too tight. It’s just not something he thinks about. Tony, though, is meticulous about that sort of thing and usually downsizes (or these days, upsizes) Bruce’s wardrobe, whenever he thinks Bruce’s clothes are on the too tight side. But it’s not like goes into Bruce’s closet and checks everything the scientist owns._  
>  **

“Huh. Hm.”

Bruce had gotten better with crowds, but they still weren’t his thing. He normally let Steve and Tony have fun at banquets and award ceremonies and all that, because they tended to enjoy those sorts of things. Bruce preferred staying in and reading a book, and getting the gossip from them later. Or via the television, if live. But someone (Tony, he guessed) had nominated him for a prestigious science award last year, and…he'd won it. He’d wanted to decline the awards banquet, but Tony whooped and hollered and Steve beamed with pride, and they’d made such a fuss…so well, he had to attend, now. 

But a few days before the ceremony, he noticed the “black-tie only” disclaimer at the bottom of the invitation. Yes, he had a tuxedo, but the last time he’d worn it was over six months ago, and he’d sort of…expanded since then.

Bruce ran his fingers over the tuxedo shirt sleeves and sighed again. Maybe it still…sort of fit–? Nervously licking his lips, Bruce unbuttoned his Oxford and slipped his arms into the sleeves of the tuxedo shirt. He made a face; It squeezed pretty tightly across his shoulders and back, but really, he only needed it to…um. To--

_Crap._

Awkwardly tugging his dress shirt, Bruce realized his buttons were nowhere near the buttonholes. Worse, he couldn’t even get his knuckles to touch when he tugged the fabric across his middle; he could fit a fricking wooden ruler between his knuckles. 

Well…shoot. Could he…pull in his gut, maybe? 

Sucking in a huge breath, Bruce tugged and pulled and worked up enough (human) strength to fasten a sum total of three measly buttons. Which stunk. Worse, as he slowly let out his gut, he felt the buttonholes stretch to their ultimate tensile strength - so he’d be lucky to bend over without them bursting from his chest, like the damn creature from _Alien_. Just great, now his jacket was his last, best hope. Hopefully it could hide the puckered seams. 

But as he reached for it (he couldn’t make any sudden moves because he’d lose all his button if he did), and slowly put his arms through the sleeves, he promptly uncovered another problem: the button on the single-breasted jacket. He slowly sucked in again and, with quivering fingers, did up the jacket button, but immediately the jacket bunched up like a yanked window shade, and rested over on the smallest part of his midsection. Instead of the jacket nestling comfortably near his navel, the button was now somewhere mid-chest and screaming at the seams.

Okay, _fine_. He’d leave the damn jacket unbuttoned when he sat down.

Growling and grunting, Bruce maneuvered his arms to unbutton to the jacket button, but it took a great deal of effort. He sighed softly and wiped sweat from his brow, but he suddenly felt a bit more comfy around his belly–- _ah_.

“Shit,” Bruce sighed, looking down. He glanced around the closet and watched as one of the shirt buttons rolled into a corner. 

Fucking perfect. Down to two.

Shaking his head in frustration and saving the worst part for last, he wrenched his dress pants from the hanger.

**

“Bruce, babe, what’s taking you so long? I thought Jarvis sa–…”

Bruce hung his head when he heard Tony coming, and he chose not to look at him when his voice dropped off. “Tell me the truth,” he sighed. "How bad is it?“

He expected Tony to laugh. Instead, the other man wrapped his arms around him and planted a kiss on his temple. “Terrible,” he said. “And you look as comfortable as a Saint Bernard in the tropics.”

“Even the pants–?”

“Especially the pants.” Tony shook his head and wiggled his finger beneath Bruce’s muffin top, slash, overhang to find his waistline. When he found it, he frowned at Bruce with one raised eyebrow. “Why are you trying to put on pants you can’t even fasten? 

"It..it’s all I had,” he said, and he sounded painfully like a scolded third-grader, even in his own ears. “You know I can’t possibly go out looking like this. I’m too fat for my tux.”

“Shush,” Tony muttered. He ghosted his fingers across Bruce’s belly, and Bruce both shivered and calmed beneath the gentle touch. He shivered again when Tony’s lips caressed his ear. “I don’t even think you can bend, without ripping something in three places.”

Bruce swallowed. “I…ah. Probably not. I already lost a few buttons.”

Tony growled low in his throat and yanked Bruce towards him, and Bruce’s stomach gently bounced against Tony’s abs. “I know what looks good, babe. And I want you to look good, ‘cause you’re a hot piece, trying to hide in a hot mess of a suit. You’re not a size 38 anymore, okay?”

Bruce snorted and shyly gazed at Tony’s shoes. “Yeah. I figured that.”

“Don’t freak out, but you’re probably a 50. Maybe more.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Tony rubbed his thumb beneath Bruce’s jaw. “Don’t. Freak,” he emphasized. “You’re gorgeous, babe. Steve and I both know it, and we have the privilege of squeezing beneath every inch of you each night. But I know how big you are, okay? And my tailor has your measurements. Yeah, so,” he shrugged a little. “Maybe he’ll need to make a few alterations. But your tux was ready weeks ago, Brucie, and I came up here to take you out, so we could get your final measurements. You _have_ a tux, Bruce. I made sure of it. You don’t need to stuff yourself into clothes that don’t fit anymore. You’re a hunk, and everyone should know it.”

**

Bruce felt better after Tony’s confirmation, and as much as he hated the tailor’s prodding and poking, he had to admit the tailor was right, and he knew how a suit on a big man was supposed to fit. Tony agreed - and so did Steve. At the banquet they could barely keep from touching him, and Bruce smirked a little with Tony humming “sharp dressed man” under his breath, right before he had to speak.

And Bruce had to admit, the new found confidence allowed him to give the best appreciation speech of his entire life.


	22. The One Where Tony and Steve Get Angry on Bruce's Behalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "How do the boys react when someone makes a comment about Bruce?"_
> 
> _**Like…Avengers? Almost like Avengers.** _

Tony finally - _finally_ \- convinced Bruce that their next date night should be a TEDtalk, and the man agreed. Sure, maybe he had some reservations, but the closer it got to the date the more Tony saw the excitement building in Bruce’s eyes. Fortunately, Bruce chose a lecture series featuring the moral implications of recycling radioactive bio-hazard waste to benefit third world infrastructures (or something like that), which actually interested all three of them. Steve had just begun to understand his new, global world, and had made a personal mission and commitment to aid the disenfranchised, in whatever way possible. Tony chuckled; Bruce was seriously rubbing off on him. Well. Rubbing off on both of them, maybe.

But on the day of the event, Tony and Steve caught Bruce sighing and nervously tugging his tie as he checked his reflection. “You look fine, muffin,” Steve murmured, squeezing his hand. “Any more preening, and we’ll have to give you peacock feathers.”

Tony chuckled and grabbed Bruce’s shoulder. “Like Steve said, you look perfect. ” He gave what he hoped was an encouraging look. Bruce never said why he was nervous, but Tony already knew. Tony squeezed his shoulder again. “It’ll be great. C'mon. Car’s waiting downstairs.”

“Okay, okay,” Bruce muttered. He sighed once more at his reflection, then let his guys guide him downstairs and to their driver. He missed the look of concern on Steve and Tony’s faces. 

**  
Why were they even worried–? The lecture series had been a hit, the post-events rocked, and it couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d tried. The organizers had even arranged a small cocktail brunch for some of the elite ticket holders afterwards (Tony signed them up, of course), and Bruce enjoyed some one-on-one time with the lecturers. Tony made sure Bruce’s champagne flute was generally full, and after a few glasses the scientist relaxed his guard.

“It’s going well, you’ve gotta admit that,” Steve whispered to Tony. Both he and Tony stood a few paces behind Bruce’s shadow, watching pridefully as Bruce laughed at something his favorite lecturer had said. 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He took a quick sip of champagne and absorbed the room’s ambiance. “So did he tell you?”

Steve glanced down and ran a finger across the rim of his glass. “He didn’t have to. He says he doesn’t care, but–”

“But,” Tony sighed. “He gets that look.”

“And his shoulders droop.”

“…goes into himself a little more.”

“Gets too quiet…”

Tony snorted and scratched behind his ear. “And then I have to put in another order for snacks, because he demolishes the cupboards. Not that I’m complaining,” he said, holding up a hand at Steve’s frown. “You know I’m cool with whatever he’s cool with. But the reason for it fucking sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They let the silence linger for a bit, and Tony finished his glass and motioned for another from the waitstaff. After a sip, he shrugged. “This place is crowded, though. The odds of him finding anyone who knew him before, especially at one of these things, is kinda remote. I think he’ll write this off as a win, and so will we.”

Steve nodded and sipped from his own glass, but his eyes anxiously scanned the crowd. He and Tony both hoped it went well for Bruce, because the man deserved it. The papers had been particularly brutal lately, bringing up the ongoing “obesity crisis” in the States and holding up Bruce as their poster boy as, “everything wrong with America.” Like Bruce said he didn’t have to worry about them roasting him on a spit for the Hulk, but…was this really any better?

“Hm,” Tony murmured. He bumped Steve’s shoulder, and Steve broke from his thoughts to follow Tony’s chin-point. “Doctor Richards. Didn’t expect him to darken this door.”

Steve chuckled softly. “Jealous, Tony?”

Tony made a severe noise. “Hardly. That hack wouldn’t know a coupler from his ego.”

“Says the man with an ego twice the size.”

“Jerk,” Tony said fondly. They waited until Dr. Richards approached with his wife on his arm, but he seemed to zero on Bruce while ignoring the two of them completely.

Richards waited to speak until the lecturer shook hands with Bruce and took his leave.

“Doctor…Banner?“ 

Startled, Bruce turned quickly and nearly knocked Dr. Richards’ glass from his hand. “Oh, sorry - I apologize,” Bruce said quietly. Richards’ scowl disappeared quickly as he brushed down his tie from the splashes of champagne, but both Tony and Steve caught it. Steve didn’t think his expression was that horrible but Tony’s smirk turned cold.

“We haven’t seen you in ages, Bruce,” Sue said, and her eyes casually dipped to drink him in. “Were you here for all the lectures?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, taking a few sips of champagne. “Dr. Kelly’s in particular seemed especially relevant, and I’m glad he made it.” 

“Quite,” Richards said, still fiddling with his tie. He barely glanced Bruce’s direction. “But I found Dr. Smythe’s lecture even more so.”

Steve and Tony froze.

“Mm,” Bruce said neutrally. He slowly drank from his glass. “How veganism in developed nations can help solve world-wide food crises.”

“That’s the one,” Richards said, suddenly beaming. “I didn’t think that topic would’ve interested you at all.”

Tony tensed and made a move forward, but Steve grabbed his arm. “Tony, don’t,” he whispered in his ear. “You’ll embarrass him.”

“Bruce doesn’t need to take that shit, Steve,” Tony growled, pulling harder against Steve’s grip.

“No, but,” Steve said, sighing lightly. “He asked us not to get involved. He doesn’t want us causing scenes.”

Tony sniffed angrily, but finally backed down; Steve let go of his arm. “Fine. But Richards is on my shit list. Permanently.”

Bruce had taken his time to answer Richards, softly chuckling while taking in the random crowds of elite snobs. He took long enough that Richards cleared his throat, begging to be acknowledged. “Hmm,” Bruce drawled, after a minute or two. “Why would you assume that, Dr, Richards?”

Richards’ wife seemed uncomfortable, and softly tugged her husband’s arm. “Reed,” she hissed under her breath.

“No, Sue, it’s fine,” Reed responded. “I think Dr. Smythe may have changed Dr. Banner’s perspective for the better, that’s all. I think Dr. Banner understands that he could benefit from revamping his…current image, maybe?” His smile broadened, became even more fake, if possible. “You know what I mean, Bruce. Of course you do.”

“I haven’t the faintest,” Bruce said, but his jaw tensed. “Go ahead. Enlighten me.”

Richards opened his mouth to say more but Sue fiercely grabbed his elbow. “Reed. No.”

“Sue, darling. Not now…Bruce,” he sighed, looking too much like an overly patient kindergarten teacher. “You have, shall we say, been in the news for reasons other than your Avengers duties. Or your scientific prowess. You know, it would probably help both the scientific community and the hero community if you had your picture taken with a vegetable every once in a while–”

“Reed–!”

“–or at least take Dr. Smythe up on his offer of becoming a vegan every few days or so,” he continued, completely ignoring his wife’s outburst. “You could easily stand to lose a pound or two. No offense.”

“Heh,” Bruce snorted and finished his glass. He mimicked Richards’ pose, but his voice was steady. Calm, even. Too calm. “Dr. Richards. I feel bad for your wife.” He nodded to Sue, who fumed with embarrassment, even as she remained by her husband’s side. “I feel bad that she fell in love with such a narrow minded, ass-backwards bigot, who tries justifying his points of view by belittling others.”

Richards straightened and suddenly worked his jaw. “Now, wait just a minute, Banner. I’m trying to help–”

“Help,” Bruce interrupted, “in something that’s none of your business, and never will be.” He smiled politely. “You don’t care about me, Richards. You care about your second-hand embarrassment which, for the record, is also bigoted. So save your rant for someone who gives a damn. And please. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. Good bye.”

He nodded to Sue, but didn’t give Dr. Richards a passing glance as turned around, and softly waved at Tony and at Steve who were stunned and proud, for the second time that day.

“Well, never in my life–”

“And you never will!” Tony crowed back.

Richards angrily spun on his heel but Steve wasn’t quite done. Yes, he told Tony to let Bruce handle it, and he was proud of Bruce - really he was. But Richards really needed someone to put him in his place, because he was a fucking bully, and Steve hated bullies. So. 

Steve triangulated the room and watched carefully for his opportunity - it didn’t take long. Richards was hauling ass out of the building, but Steve glided along side him, as natural as could be, and bumped him. Hard. Hard enough that Richards careened into two of the waitstaff carrying large trays of half- finished champagne glasses and partially eaten dips. The ensuing crash caused everyone to gasp and stare, while Richards lay in the center of the floor, covered in dip muck and wine spittle. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Steve said. Not at all sorry. “I didn’t see you. Are you–”

“Just get away!” Richards snarled. Sue, his wife. chuckled softly and marched away from him, while headed for the doors. “Sue–honey? Honey, what’s wrong–ugh!” Richards shook dip from his fingers and slipped a few times in the muck before barreling after his wife. “Sue, wait!”

“Well. That’ll leave a stain,” Steve said quietly. Tony and Bruce joined him seconds later, and Tony gave him a discrete high-five.

“You did that on purpose, Steve,” Bruce accused. He couldn’t quite pull off an angry glare while a shit-eating grin tugged at his lips. “I thought I told you two I could handle it.”

"And you did, Brucie, admirably,” Tony said, swinging an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “But sometimes–”

“Sometimes,” Steve said, crossing his arms. “Bullies need to be reminded of who they’re messing with.”

Chuckling, Bruce dipped his head, but it wasn’t out of sadness or embarrassment. He let Tony and Steve lead him out, and despite the interruption, they all agreed the date had been a good one.

**

A few days later a scathing “eye-witness” ops-ed piece of the event appeared in the Times, vilifying Dr. Richards and exalting Dr. Banner. It called for the Times and other papers to recall Dr. Banner’s debt to the city, and to remove their scandalous fat-shaming gossip from their pages. And that Dr. Banner’s weight had no bearing on how he aided his community or worked to build a better world for everyone. And shame on them and other papers for using body image as a way to sell more papers, and so on. And so forth. 

Of course Steve and Bruce knew Tony wrote it. Not that Tony would admit to it.   
The backlash was strong enough, though, that Richards ended up writing a public apology to save face for the “hero and scientific community.” It also started a chain reaction of honest discussions of weight and health, of which Bruce was able to offer a few comments without worry of ridicule. 

So maybe Steve and Tony are a little protective of Bruce, yes. But they also let him handle it. Sometimes.


	23. The One Where Bruce Gets Belly Rubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous: "Does chubby Bruce like getting belly rubs?"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **Yes he does, but he’s usually a little embarrassed to outright ask. Fortunately the boys figured his fondness for belly rubs, and they find ways to rub his tummy with minimum embarrassment.**  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW; some feederism kinks.

Bruce promised to watch documentaries of moon landings with Steve while Tony was out discussing business strategies with Pepper, late one night. Tony hated documentaries, so with him gone, it was the perfect time to watch the programs (and Bruce liked documentaries). 

He and Steve decided to make a fun night of it despite - or in spite of - Tony’s absence, and they put on sweats and t-shirts and ordered out from various restaurants, then ate ice cream sundaes for dessert (yes, he was a grown man, but…he’d missed a lot as a kid, and Steve excelled at helping him create new, child-like memories). But Bruce had eaten his fill...and beyond, because Steve was a card-carrying member of the “clean plate club” and you didn’t waste food in the Depression, no sirree bob. Not that Bruce minded so much, but still. There’d been a _lot_ of food, and his stomach began reminding him of how much.

Sighing, he waited until Steve cued the movies before stretching out across the second half of the couch, and then he nudged his head in Steve’s lap.

Steve chuckled gently. “Feel better, Porkpie?”

“Much,” Bruce murmured. He belched behind a curved fist and politely excused himself, but Steve simply patted Bruce’s drum-tight belly. When Bruce made an unconscious noise of pleasure, Steve flicked his fingers beneath his unforgiving shirt, and rubbed slow, concentric patterns across his tight gut.

Bruce felt his face grow warm when a surprising groan left his lips. _Whoops_. “Um, Steve,” he sighed. “You don’t n–”

“Hush,” Steve softly chastised. He glanced down, frowning. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about liking it, because I’m not embarrassed about helping you feel better. Just enjoy it, Bruce. Let it go.”

Bruce snorted, but let Steve continue. Because sometimes he forgot that his lovers really did love him for him, and he didn’t have to pretend around them. Or try to be perfect.

In short, he needed to trust their love, and stop listening to the demons in his head.

“Okay,” he rumbled. Because Steve was right; he enjoyed it. Maybe more than he’d expected to. He let out a few more belches and burps but instead of excusing himself, he let it happen, and he caught a slow, appreciative smirk on Steve’s lips.

**

When Tony returned, he found Steve and Bruce snoring on the living room couch, with Steve’s hand twitching in sleep, across Bruce’s exposed tummy. He chuckled softly, put a blanket over them, then turned off the TV and the lights. He changed his clothes and considered heading for bed.

But at the last minute he changed his mind, and joined them on the couch. Because honestly, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep without them. He curved the end of the extended couch and thought he was quiet enough, but he heard Bruce’s soft snore catch.

“Whuzzat–?”

“Shh, just me,” Tony murmured. Smiling, he placed his hand on Bruce’s stomach, and Bruce grunted softly as Tony rubbed his stomach until he fell back asleep. Which took less than a few minutes, but no matter; he grinned, watching as Bruce sighed contentedly, returning to a quiet slumber. Stifling the giggle in his throat, Tony lay adjacent to Bruce’s gut and pulled another blanket over them both. He still kept the grin on his lips, but before long he quietly joined Bruce and Steve in slumber.


	24. The One Where the Boys Argue over Books and Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Does Chubby Bruce help to make sure Tony doesn't spoil books and movies for Steve?"_
> 
> **Yes, but it’s hard. Tony has a big mouth...**

Steve was a purist. Even more so in this new era of whizz and bang and geronimos and the like. Being a purist kept him sane, and kept him from becoming too overwhelmed with all the newfangled doodads and gadgets. So before he went on Netflix to stream a movie, he checked for written versions first. It was one reason why it took him so long to see movies, even though Tony chomped at the bit for him to see more. He had to read the book first, if it existed. And _then_ he’d view the movie.

Which drove Tony bananas.

“Steve,” he grumbled. “The movie is a whole different medium. Sometimes they throw out huge sections of the book, or make other shit up. Seriously, you’ll have just as much fun if you watch the damn movie first.”

“No, I need to know what I’m missing. I want to get into the characters, and their motivations–”

Tony rolled his eyes. “The entire point of the movie is to enjoy the faster pace! The action, the suspense–it’s right there, in front of your nose.”

“Tony.” Bruce’s quiet voice cut through the mounting argument. He placed a large casserole dish on a trivet in the center of the dining table and then grabbed three huge soup bowls. “It’s okay if Steve wants to read the books first; some prefer books as a point of reference.”

“ _Et tu_ , Banner?” Tony made a noise deep in his throat, then tromped to the kitchen. His overly dramatic huffs followed him as he brought out the rice cooker, and as he began plopping lopsided balls of rice into everyone’s bowls. “And that is so not the point,” he said, gesturing with the rice ladle. Bruce frowned as grains of rice scattered across the floor and table. “You read as fast as a snail in quicksand,” he said, as Steve approached the table.

“Tony,” Bruce warned. He plated the curry while Steve grimaced and set out the silverware and napkins.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not the world’s smartest man,” Steve shot back, and Tony winced, looking a trifle more humble than before.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Bruce squeezed Steve’s shoulder and glared at Tony. “No one thinks you’re stupid, Steve.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony said, although from the expression on his face they could tell he wasn’t 100% sure what he meant.

Steve sighed while sitting. “I know, it's not that,” Steve said, waving him off. “It’s _reference_. Sometimes I have to look up certain things to understand the author’s perspective.“ 

"Of course,” Bruce nodded, squeezing into his chair. “That makes perfect sense.”

“Not to me.” Tony sniffed and grabbed his rice bowl while sitting down. “It’s just another reason to see the movie first - instant input, instant gratification.”

Exasperated, Bruce said something to shut down their argument before they ended up eating cold curry, but now Tony had a bee in his bonnet and he wouldn’t rest until he proved that his way was better.

**  
It began innocently, at first. Tony would catch Steve leafing through a book, and he’d ask questions about Steve’s current chapter. Once Steve told him a little bit Tony’d let out a tiny little spoiler - nothing significant. Just a comparison to how the director handled the scene in the movie. But it frustrated Steve to no end, and it didn’t get him into the theater any faster. Worse, Tony continued popping up at odd little moments to tell him things he "should" pay attention to in the book, because it would be “important later on.”

It came to a head when Steve started on Harper Lee’s book. He’d heard good things about it, but purposely didn’t want to spoil anything about the book due to its subject material. He became so engrossed and enamored with the character of Scout and her father, Atticus, that he missed Tony sneaking up on him in the study.

“Boo.”

Steve jumped in his chair. “Tony. Quit it.” He grumbled a bit and returned to his book. “Aren’t you a little old for sneaking up on people? Honestly.”

Tony smirked darkly. “No. That’s the name of the character, Steve, and just so you know, he’s pretty damn important.”

“Tony…” Steve warned.

“Seriously, pay attention to that guy. He’s bad news.” Tony canted a hip against Steve’s armchair, and blinked innocently at him. “Although, you do know they recently published Harper Lee’s prequel to this, right?”

Steve gritted his teeth. “Tony. Don’t start.”

“No, it’s okay. I won’t tell you how it ends. But you do find out that Atticus was a white supremacist asshole, which kinda takes you right out of–”

“That tears it!” Steve slammed down the book and rocketed from his chair. “Tony, I am sick and tired of you ruining my books! Why can’t you let me–”

“ _Tony. Steve._ ”

Steve’s angry protest died on his lips as both he and Tony turn to see Bruce’s disapproving frown. “That’s _enough_.” He folded his arms and glared at Tony first. “Tony. We talked about this. But maybe you should tell Steve the real truth, so he understands.”

Tony sighed and ran a hand down his beard. “Yeah, okay. Okay. Steve,” he said after another huff. “It’s not that I’m trying to spoil the movie for you. I…kinda want to help you understand the background.” He shrugged and picked at his fingernails. 

“In other words,” Bruce said quietly, “he always wanted to help you learn, but he didn’t want to step on your toes. And,” Bruce said, turning his glare on Tony again, “he’s terrible at explaining himself." 

"Really?” Both Tony and Bruce nodded. “That’s all this was?” Steve chuckled as Tony made a face. “Well, if you’d asked, I would’ve definitely accepted. I didn’t think you liked all that dull stuff, Tony.”

“Well, I really don’t,” Tony muttered. “But I think you deserve a more personal touch than some dull critic’s commentary.”

Steve nodded, and licked his lips. “Well. There’s another reason I take so long, too. I don’t want to just know the author’s perspective. I want to investigate the history surrounding the novels. Like, what was happening in 1950 that prompted the author’s ideas?" 

He paused, but since Tony and Bruce appeared interested, he continued on with a small sigh. "The Harlem Renaissance started just before I was born. But no one I knew talked that much about it, right? So I felt like I was missing something. When I was old enough I did my own research, and that opened a world I didn’t know existed. From then on, books became the only way I could hear or see the real world. The _truth_. So yeah,” he said, glancing shyly at both men. “The history part is kinda important to me. Movies in my day watered down everything.”

Bruce smiled. “They still do. Ask Darcy about Harry Potter movie adaptions versus the books, and you’ll get an earful.”

“Harry…Potter?”

Tony laughed. “Another huge cultural milestone.” Smiling, Tony clasped Steve’s shoulder. “We should help fill in the historical gaps, before you pick up your next novel. It might help.”

Steve smirked at him. “So that means you’ll watch more documentaries with me?”

Tony faked shuddered. “God, if I must.”

Bruce sighed softly and chuckled to himself, as peace finally returned to their home. And he began thinking of their next movie night, and how they could help Steve tackle and interpret the strangest of all cultural oddities: the 1960s.


	25. The One Where the Boys Go to Disneyworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Would Tony ever take Steve and Bruce to Disney? Because everyone deserves to go to Disney._
> 
> _**He would, but Bruce would have a few reservations - at first.** _

“C’mon, Brucie,” Tony said, slinging an arm over Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce fidgeted beneath him. “It’s Disneyworld. You said last night you’d never been, and I know Capcicle hasn’t been.”

Steve shuddered at Tony’s nickname. “Bruce, we don’t have to go. It’s just an idea. Tony can find something else for his date night/week, whatever.”

Bruce sighed, and glanced at Tony. “Large crowds.”

“We’ll go on a Tuesday. Mid-week. Fewer crowds.”

“Airplanes.”

“My private jet. No one to worry about.”

“ _Paparazzi_ ,” Bruce groused, and he pulled his glasses down his nose to glare at Tony, properly. Tony shared a look with Steve who slowly shook his head and mouthed no, but Tony shrugged him off.

“Granted,” Tony said, turning back to Bruce. “The Paps, looky-loos, and all sorts are gonna have cameras. But we’ll have our own VIP tour guides keeping the majority at bay. And there’s a private train or coach thing that can take us around the park. Just for us famous folk. And if you’re worried about your size–not that you are, but just in case - the Disney parks are very accommodating. Far more than other theme parks.”

“Bruce,” Steve sighed. “Really. It’s not a thing we need to do.”

“You’ve never been, Steve.”

“No, but…it’s not like I _have_ to go. We could go tons of other places.”

“Your first Disney trip is a once-in-a-lifetime experience!” Tony’s eyes darted between the two men. "We can jet down there like, in a few short hours. And fine, if you don’t want to see the sites or ride the rides, we’re staying at one of the resort hotels. They’re pretty cushy: Spas, pools, great dining - tons of stuff to help you relax.“

That seemed to grow on Bruce. “A spa?”

“Yep.” Tony grinned at the men. Steve held up his hands, because of course, Tony’d already won Bruce over. “You can relax to your little Buddhist’s heart’s content.”

“I’m not a Buddhist, Tony.”

“Fine. Ninja zen master, then.” He bumped Bruce’s shoulder. “ _Bruuuucie_. C'mon, babe. Whaddya say?”

“Well…”

“Yes!” Tony clasped his hands together and bounced from the room. “Jarvis, make it so.”

“That wasn’t a ‘yes’!” Bruce yelled down the hall, but Tony was already making plans and going over itineraries with his AI.

“Yeah, it was, Porkpie.” Steve kissed Bruce’s cheek and followed Tony’s exit.

Bruce snorted. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, shaking his head.

**

To their surprise - most of all to Bruce’s surprise - they had a great time, and ended up extending their “date” so it lasted ten days. At first Bruce hadn’t wanted to leave the hotel, but after reading about all of the activities in the hotel brochures (and salivating over Epcot’s food menu), he mentioned that maaaaybe they could persuade him. They found a decent rhythm of being at the resort during the day and doing some of the park activities after 9pm, since the majority of families were gone during the week (and the Paps couldn’t get clear pics of them after dark). During their weekend, though, they all stayed at the hotel. Which really wasn’t bad. They ended up being quite…productive in their rooms.

The rest of the Avengers were a little curious when the trio returned, because Bruce’s smile stayed plastered on his lips for days.

And if they caught the pictures on Tony’s phone, of Bruce sporting a Mickey hat with Pooh Bear ears and a Sully tail, they wisely kept it to themselves.


	26. The One Where the Boys Read Harry Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: What do the Infundo boys think of the Harry Potter series?_
> 
> _**Would you believe it was the first book/series they ever read together?** _

Darcy got them hooked on it.

Actually, she wouldn’t shut up about it, when Tony told her he’d never read the series. “But you’ve seen the movies? And you call yourself well-read. Tisk, tisk. I say. And again, Tisk!”

Tony made a face and scribbled his signature on something Pepper wanted from him. The insane duo team-up of Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis blew into town for an astrophysical deal, and Darcy got bored while Jane played the role of keynote speaker. So of course she came to the Avengers Tower. To bug him.

He groaned when another virtual screen came up, and he had to sign more things. “First of all, Lewis, I’m busy. Second of all–” he glared at the information in front of him, furiously waved his hand, and began typing in the air. “–no, nuh-uh. I am not signing that nonsense. Second,” he announced, still typing like a madman but speaking as if he’d never interrupted himself. “I only saw the first movie. Then life interrupted. I didn’t see the rest. Third, Banner’s the well-read of the bunch. And fourth, who the hell says ‘tisk tisk’? It’s a sound, Lewis. Like the sound you make when you call a dog, or a cat. If cats even decide to come.” He stopped typing for a brief second, and stared at Darcy. “Do cats even come when you call them?”

Darcy shrugged. “I dunno. Mine never did. Unless there was food.”

“Exactly.” His attention returned to the virtual screen, and his frown deepened. “Otherwise, moot point. Won’t read ‘em. So shoo.”

She shooed, but Tony found a copy of the book on his desk the next day.

**

“Hm”

At Tony’s grunt, Bruce glanced up from his lab work and watched as Tony flipped through a book. Which was unusual in itself; Tony preferred tablets. “Problem?”

“You ever read the Harry Potter series?”

Bruce smirked and turned back to his sample data. “No. Never had. I was…kind of on the run for the first few. And I never got around to the movies. Aren’t they kids’ books, anyway?”

Tony snorted. “Not according to Darcy Lewis.” He tossed the book on a counter. “To her, it’s the epitome of British literature in the 20th century.”

Bruce frowned and carefully picked up the book. “You know, I bet Steve might like it.” Bruce turned the spine over in his hands and skimmed the back cover. “It’s a fantasy novel, so it might not frustrate him as much, if he comes across strange idioms or unusual phrasing.”

“And he loves it when we’re just as clueless as he is,” Tony finished.

“Right. Because then we’re discovering it together.”

“And he needs more of that from us.”

Bruce nodded. Tony noticed it too, that Steve withdrew if he felt out of the loop. “We could…all read it at the same time. A chapter a day, so no one gets too far ahead. And then we could discuss it.”

Tony waggled his eyebrows. “Before bed?”

“Sure, why not,” Bruce said, smiling softly. “Besides, I really want to know what a ‘Muggle’ is. I keep hearing about it. It sounds like a Muppet name.”

Tony chuckled, and plucked the book from Bruce’s hands. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s read the shit out of Harry Potter.”

**

And they did. Although they almost quit after the first book, they decided to continue, and by the third book they were solid “Potterheads” and arguing on the houses they would’ve been sorted into. As for their favorite books, Tony loved _Prisoner of Azkeban_ , Steve preferred _Order of the Phoenix_ and Bruce was fond of the _Half-Blood Prince._

And Steve couldn’t have been happier, since he’d finally found something new that all three of them could enjoy.


	27. The One With Bruce's First, Best Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Not a really coherent prompt but something with cuddly chubby happy Bruce. Maybe snuggling with Steve and Tony_

_This,_ Bruce thought while taking another sip of eggnog, _is the epitome of contentment._ He smiled at Tony’s small yawn; the engineer looked like a lump of Christmas between Bruce’s legs, all huddled up in the coziest of cozy green and red fleece blankets. Similarly, Bruce huddled between Steve’s cozy arms, as a blanket draped loosely across the supersoldier’s shoulders and covered them both. Bruce imagined being in a tent of teddy bears could feel like this.

He must’ve hummed softly or said something, because Tony softly rubbed his leg and Steve nuzzled his neck.

“What’s up, Brucie?”

Bruce chuckled softly. “Nothing, Tony. I think after that huge dinner and four cups of eggnog, my Christmas spirit finally runneth over.”

“And that’s…good?” Steve rubbed his cheek against Bruce; it felt like being tickled by a peach.

“Absolutely.” Nat King Cole’s rich voice filled the room while a log from the fireplace slipped into the embers. “I really can’t remember feeling this good. Although,” he chuckled, staring at his mug, “it could be all the eggnog.”

“Heh. You really think that, big guy?”

Bruce paused a beat, watching as thick flakes of snow trickled from the roof and flittered past the penthouse windows. The roof lights reflected off the snow as the Manhattan skyline painted a perfect twenty-first century Currier and Ives portrait. And he smirked as Steve’s hands roamed over his thick middle, softly squeezing the extra rolls of fat he’d acquired over the holidays ( _cinnamon rolls,_ Tony called them). His face warmed, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. He liked the feel of Steve’s soft, gentle hands thumbing his pudgy flab.

He realized he must’ve taken too long to answer, because he felt the scrape of Tony’s beard against his shin, followed by a gentle kiss.

“Nah,” Bruce finally said. “It’s not the eggnog. It’s definitely the company.”

Steve squeezed him silently and Tony sighed as he nestled deeper into his thigh. Deep in Bruce’s core, he finally admitted it: This was his life now. This was his family. And it wasn’t temporary, it was real. As real as the the fullness in his belly, telling him how awesome Christmas dinner had been. As real as the sweet eggnog laced with copious amounts of brandy dancing on his tongue. As real as Christmas carols being sung by Nat King Cole. As real as…as real as life was supposed to be.

Bruce sighed again and lay his head into Steve’s shoulder as he watched the snow fall. It’d taken ages, but he finally received the Christmas gift he’d always wanted.


	28. The One Where the Boys Visit a B&B/Dude Ranch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Has chubby Bruce ever done horse riding?_
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> **Tony can be incredibly persuasive…**  
>  _

Bruce sighed and ran a finger beneath his glasses. “Tony…it–it’s not possible.” He gestured to his body. “You _do_ see how heavy I am, right?” He made a sour face. “I’d fucking break the horse’s back.”

Tony’s face fell, and Bruce shrugged sheepishly. ·“I know you want to do this for our vacation; I never expected you to go for a dude ranch in Colorado, per se–”

“It’s not a ‘dude ranch,’ Tony huffed. “It’s a private B&B, one of the nicest around. Perfect view of the mountains, nearby creek and woods…and it’s got wifi and satellite, and all the amenities of home. It’s your type of place, Banner. No one for a few miles in any direction, small chill in the air, grounds available for camping if you want to ‘rough it’ a few days - and yes, horseback riding. Which I think you should try, regardless of your size. They have–”

Bruce held up a hand before Tony went any further into the pitch. “Tony, I get it. You want us all to be together. And,” he said, planting a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I appreciate it. But I’m too goddamn fat to ride a horse. I love that you accept me for who I am, more than you may realize, but the truth is the truth.

“Besides,” he said, smirking. “There’s tons of other stuff to do. You and Steve can go riding. I’ll sit by the fireplace or read a book, or watch a little TV until you two get back. It’s not the end of the world.”

But Tony had that look in his eye, the one Bruce equated with, “no one, not even you, can tell Tony Stark ‘no’ and get away with it.”

Bruce shook his head and returned to his lab project after Tony left. Yeah, horseback riding would’ve been nice, maybe. But it’s not like he ever learned to ride in the first place, so he wouldn’t be missing much.

**

On the day of the trip, Bruce kept catching shared glances between Steve and Tony. He didn’t think much of it; he assumed if it was important they’d let him know. And since on the plane ride out they snuggled up to him twice as much, he pushed aside his discomfort until the plane landed. ·

Tony excused himself to make a call as their driver loaded their bags into the limo, and Steve inhaled a huge lungful of sharp mountain air while wrapping his arms around Bruce. “It’s great out here,” he told Bruce. “No smog, no shouting cabbies…it’s nice.”

Bruce nodded and ran a hand down Steve’s arm. “I like it,” he agreed. “It’s a little chilly, but I think we can handle it.” ·He canted his head slightly to take Steve in. “Did you ever go camping as a kid?”

Steve shook his head. “Couldn’t stay out in the cold for long, with my asthma. Did the indoor blanket-and-pillow fort thing, though.”

“I suppose that’s enough,” Bruce said chuckling. “Maybe if you and Tony go riding, you and I can go camping for a night. I don’t think Tony’d want to join us for that.”

Steve kissed Bruce’s cheek. “Don’t go all jealous on me, Porkpie. We’ll all be together, regardless of what we do.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bruce said, even though he knew he was lying a bit. He huffed and peered over their limo, watching Tony stalk the tarmac with his phone plastered to his ear. “What’s taking him so long-- _Tones_ ,” Bruce called out. “The driver packed our stuff. We need to get going.”

Tony held up the universal, “one minute” hand sign, and Bruce sighed softly. God, he hoped Tony wouldn’t be tethered to his phone their entire vacation.

**

The ride from the private airport to the B&B took a good while, but Bruce hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep in the limo until he felt Tony’s gentle nudge. “Wakey-wakey, Pooh Bear.”

“Wha–?” He rubbed his eyes and tried shaking the sleep from his foggy brain. “Sorry. Guess I was a little wiped.”

“No worries,” Tony said. He exchanged a careful look with Steve. “Hey, why don’t you go inside and have a seat. Steve an’ I’ll get our bags, and check-in.”

Bruce nodded with a yawn, but in retrospect, he should’ve been more suspicious because Tony tipped ·people to move his bags and take them to his rooms and he rarely did it himself. Still, feeling tired - and maybe more than a little hungry - Bruce didn’t want to foist his food-grumpiness onto his lovers.

And yet. His mood didn’t clear when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Tony and Steve grinning and hugging.

**

“So,” Tony began, after dinner. He flopped onto their massive four-poster bed, one that nearly rivaled their bed back home, and briefly tapped Bruce’s bare foot with a handful of brochures. They'd mostly changed for bed, although Tony still sported a casual tee with jeans. “You up for a little exploring tomorrow morning?”

Bruce belched when Steve suddenly rubbed his stomach. He’d eaten far more than he intended to, but their hostess had been an adorable, grandmotherly type whose late husband was “a man with a huge, hearty appetite,” so she kept filling Bruce’s plate whenever he cleaned it. He didn’t really mind though; her home cooked meals were wrapped up morsels of fried heaven, and he probably would’ve eaten multiple helpings and desserts whether or not he’d been hungry. He didn’t mind being her surrogate foodie for the duration of the trip, either. Bruce half-wondered if that’s one reason Tony chose this place.·

“I dunno,” Bruce said, sighing. “Exploring, meaning…?”

“Meaning,” Tony drawled, rapping Bruce’s toes. “Checking out the scenery in style. Not a cloud in the sky, high temperature around fifty-five Fahrenheit…perfect horseback riding weather.”

Bruce groaned, and collapsed back onto the bed. “Tony. I told you–”

“Come out with us, Bruce,” Steve murmured. Bruce’s t-shirt had ridden up and Steve gently rubbed the large swath of exposed skin, as if to pacify him. “You don’t…you don’t have to stay. Just come out with us, okay?”

He made a face at the pair of them, but Steve’s warm hands kneading his underbelly diffused any fight left in him.

He scooched up on his elbows to glare at them properly. “Fine,” he growled. “But I’m bringing a book.”

They grinned at him.

He flopped back down and shut his eyes with a groan. He was going to be so damn bored.

**

The next morning Marne, their hostess, plied them with a huge country breakfast, and Bruce indulged in a few extra helpings. The overstuffed fullness made him feel a little better, considering they’d woken at the asscrack of dawn to meet their guide. He wasn’t even sure why he still agreed to join them - waiting around in the chilled air for two hours seemed the epitome of rude, in his opinion - but of course he said yes to it.

Love was a funny emotion, sometimes.

As of this particular moment, though, they waited beside the barn while their tour guide/horse wrangler-whisperer person finished prepping the horses for the ride.

“If I’d known it would’ve taken this long,” Bruce grumbled, jamming his hands in his coat pockets. “I would’ve stayed in bed an extra hour.”

“Aw, don’t be a grumpy bear,” Tony mumbled, fake-pouting at him. But to ease the insult he took Bruce’s hand and held in in his gloved fist.

Steve, who’d wrapped his body around Bruce’s shoulders like a stole, grunted at Tony. “You know, we should probably t–”

“Nope, no no no. Don’t say it, Steve.”

“But he’s–”

“Nah, ah, _ah_! Two minutes, you can hold on for two lousy minutes.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes between Tony and Steve. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Nothing important, Brucie. Just…ah-hah! _Hah_! Look–barn door’s opening!” Bruce swore Tony bounced on the balls of his feet like a six-year-old on his birthday.

“Sorry it took so long, folks,” the trail guide said. He lead out two horses, and loosely tied their reins to a post. “Had a few issues with the new stable hand…I’m Jack, and I’ll be helping you all today.”

“No problem, Jack,” Tony said, and he was still beaming. The animals were gorgeous creatures, Bruce had to admit. He reached out to pet the roan-horse with the white diamond patch, and it softly nuzzled him.

“That’s Morgan,” the trail guide answered. Bruce nodded. Jack reminded Bruce a little of Hoss Cartwright, from the old tv show, Bonanza. “That dapple beside her is Buddy.”

“Hey, Buddy,” Bruce murmured to the other horse. Both of them seemed to take a shine to him, which was a pleasant surprise. He wasn’t always sure how animals would react to his dual nature.

“Mr. Stark,” Jack said over his shoulder; he was heading back to the barn. “You’re the experienced rider of the bunch, right?”

Tony shrugged sheepishly off of Bruce’s and Steve’s look, and it was the first time in Bruce’s known memory that he’d seen Tony blush. “I had some lessons when I was young,” he said quickly. “No big deal.”

“Morgan’s your horse, then,” Jack said, before he ducked back into the barn, presumably, Bruce thought, to fetch his own ride.

“ ‘Some lessons’?” Steve parroted. He was grinning a little, eager to deepen the dark blush shooting across Tony’s cheeks. “How many are ‘some’?”

Bruce smirked. “Were you in the rocking horse Olympics?”

Tony grunted. “I…may have been in a few riding and/or jumping competitions. At eight. And twelve. And…well. Fifteen.”

Steve whistled. “You’ve been holding out on us, Tony.” His grin widened. “Pics, or it didn’t happen.”

Tony groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. “Holy hell, Banner, did you teach him that godawful phrase? For the love of Tesla, Steve, do not utter that meme in my presence, ever again.”

Bruce was too busy laughing to notice Jack’s return, and he only glanced up after Steve stopped arguing with Tony long enough to bump his shoulder. “Muffin. _Look_.”

Jack brought out two more horses. One, the color of molasses, and the other–good God, was that an actual _horse_? It was gigantic!

“Doctor Banner,” Jack said proudly. “Meet Blue. He’ll be your ride on the trail.”

Bruce’s head whipped around. “ _Mine_?” He did a double take at the barrel-chested behemoth, which he imagined was as majestic and as huge as an Asgardian steed would be. But how–

He heard some hissing laughter and shyly caught Tony and Steve’s grins, laughing like two twin hyenas, “You planned this,” he accused, but he was more touched than angry.·

“Yep, We did.” Tony cupped a hand over Bruce’s shoulder as Bruce pet the massive beast. Blue instantly nuzzled him, same as the other animals had done, but Blue seemed more insistent beneath Bruce’s fingers. Friendlier, even.

“Blue is a draft horse,” Jack explained. “Specifically a Percheron. He’s our largest boy, gentle as a lamb. Does great with beginners.”

Blue nodded in Bruce’s hands, as if agreeing. “I’m…well,” Bruce sighed. “I’m a bit larger than the average rider, Jack. Are you sure–”

Jack chuckled. “Not that you need to know, Doctor, but Blue here has carried heavier people than you. Trust me, he can handle you, even as a new rider.”

“So, Muffin,” Steve said, squeezing Bruce’s side. “You ready to ride your first horse?”

Bruce laughed, and blushed a little, feeling more loved - and embarrassed - than he had been in a long while. He hadn’t any reason to be jealous. He had to remember that.

“Sure,” he said. And after a few instructions from Jack, the three of them were on their way. And by the end of the trip, Tony had dozens of pictures of a smiling, happy Bruce to add to his phone’s collection.


	29. The One Where Tony and Steve Praise Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Does chubby Bruce like getting praised by Tony and Steve?_   
>  **_He does, but he has problems with the sincerity of their words. He’s somewhat shy, and he still feels a little undeserving._ **

“Oh my God, Bruce. My God…” Tony’s jaw practically unhinged at the thing of beauty floating on his display. “You’re a fucking genius–I could kiss you.”

Bruce ducked his head. “You already do that on a daily basis. All I did was fill in the blanks, Tony. The idea was all yours, I just hijacked parts of it.”

Tony’s expression was lidded as he came close. He took Bruce’s head in his hands and punctuated kisses across Bruce’s lips with each of his words. “You are” _kiss_ “a” _kiss_ “genius” _kiss_ “and don’t” _kiss_ “you” _kiss_ “forget” _kiss_ “it.”

Bruce began coloring the shade of a tomato, but he nodded coyly and splayed his hands across the viewscreen. “Ah. Well. Um.” He chuckled shyly and made a few notations on Tony’s - _their_ \- experiment. “Thanks.”

**

“Bruce, this is gorgeous!”

Bruce shrugged a little and switched his feet. “I could’ve had more time to develop the concept,” he said honestly. “I mean, as a medium, it’s been done before, and you’re the artist, not me, so–”

Steve took Bruce in his arms and Bruce glanced at his feet to hide his blush after Steve kissed him. “I love it,” Steve murmured. “I love the sentiment, and every ounce of you, in this.” Steve held the computer generated art piece back as far as his arms let him. Bruce had cobbled together a huge poster made from all the magazines and newspapers Tony and Iron Man and Bruce and Hulk had headlined. Then Bruce miniaturized them, and when anyone stood back far enough, the magazines and articles turned into a larger picture of Steve in his everyday clothes, looking over Manhattan from the Penthouse roof.

“We make up each other,” Steve whispered, and Bruce nodded.

“That’s what I was going for. It’s a little silly, I guess. Maybe too mushy.”

“No, Porkpie,” Steve whispered. He smiled at the art piece fondly. “It’s perfect.”

Bruce nodded and quietly cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

**

Tony and Steve knew Bruce had problems taking verbal compliments, though they gave them often. His blush was enough thanks. They knew Bruce’s childhood had been filled with backhanded and backward compliments, so he had trouble accepting really strong compliments from others. 

But on those days where he seemed especially shy, both Steve and Tony took him to their bedroom and showered him with kisses and hugs and massages and the like, because Bruce never misinterpreted their gentle, physical touches. So Steve and Tony would reinforce the sincerity of their compliments to him on those days.

They reiterate how gorgeous, how smart, and how talented he is, through the power of touch alone.


	30. The One Where Bruce Gets Stuck (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Aww do another chubby Bruce getting stuck, you make it so cute!_

_Not again,_ he thought. _Not again, not **fricking** again–_

“Tony…”

Bruce hoped the resigned note in his voice would get Tony to pull out beneath the roadster, but maybe he didn’t sound pathetic enough. “Got this one bolt that. Just. Won’t. Turn. You know how that goes? Man, I love fixing these things. But when’ll car manufacturers get a clue? Seriously, they can bite my shiny metal ass–”

He sighed. _“Tony.”_

“Brucie. You hungry? I can order out again. Jarvis, put in a order for Banner’s lunch fave, and throw in a couple extra sandwiches and chips, in case Steve shows up.”

Bruce wished he could face-palm. “Tony!” he barked.

Tony finally rolled out from beneath his car, grease stained and annoyed, but Bruce caught his attention at last. _“What?_ Deli not good enough this time for you? What do you want? Cake? Ice cream? A _parade?_ ”

“I _want_ ,” Bruce said miserably, “your help.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Bruce grunted. It shouldn’t have happened, but the cabinet wasn’t supposed to be as small as advertised. And maybe he’d put on another pound or two without realizing it…

”I’m.” He huffed angrily. “I’m stuck.”

Tony rolled his lips and tried not to laugh, because he knew how much Bruce hated it when he did. But it was so damn adorable. “Why am I not surprised?” A giggle left his lips anyway. “You know, this thing was supposed to house your extra supplies. Tell me again, before I help you: why did you decide to wiggle your big, beautiful behind in there?”

“Dropped something.”

“Uh, huh. And you didn’t wait for me to help you because–?”

“You were busy.”

“And you, my dear bf, were impatient.” Tony tsked softly and strolled over. The tools cabinet was expertly made, and very sturdy - but it had very little give or room. It was a couple feet wide in any direction, and Bruce just happened to find a way to scrunch himself in there and max out the square footage. Which meant, he had no room to move.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know how you keep doing it.”

“I don’t either,” Bruce muttered as Tony reached in to help him.

“Hm.” Bruce looked like an Auntie Anne’s pretzel from the food court. “We could market you as a fat contortionist.”

“Hah. Really funny.” Bruce tried wiggling, to no avail. “Just…can you find a limb and start tugging?”

“Well, first, I’ll find a way that doesn’t include you Hulking out,” Tony told him. “Then we’ll see.”

Tony’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he tested where Bruce would have the most room. “I’m gonna move your elbow, okay? It may hurt a little.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Bruce said, thoroughly fed up at this point. But he yelped when Tony gave it just a bit more tug than he would’ve liked. “Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry…but. Your elbow’s out of the box. Once you get your arm out, you should be able to get out on your own.”

He felt sore and stiff, but Tony was right, and he slowly unfolded himself ·from the box with a groan. “Ugh. Never again.”

“Which is what you said last time.”

“But I mean it this time.”

“Uh, huh.”

Bruce made a face and gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. When’s lunch coming, then?”

Tony laughed and gave Bruce’s ass a huge whack. and took time to watch it jiggle like jell-o. “A few minutes. Meanwhile,” he said, digging into his shirt pocket. “Here’s a candy bar. Let it tide you over until then.”

Bruce gave a small pout, but took it from him. He hoped that would be the last time, but. Well. His larger body and persistent hunger probably had other ideas.


	31. The One Where Tony and Steve fall asleep on Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Do Tony or Steve like falling asleep with their head cuddling on Bruce's big belly? How does Bruce react?_
> 
> _**Oh, absolutely - and Bruce takes it quite well.** _

When the three of them are exhausted - usually from some villain of the week, or world-shattering event, or space fight or what have you - the three of them collapse in the living room because they’re too worn out and too wired to sleep. And really, they just want some mindless activity, to turn off the adrenaline in their bodies and minds.

Steve’s usually the one to remember to make sure they all eat - Bruce especially, due to the Hulk. Steve automatically melts down a half-gallon of ice cream, puts it in a huge pitcher with a straw, and immediately gives it to Bruce first. Because it’s _something_ , and Bruce needs the calories after a Hulk-out. Then he’ll pull out cheese and crackers and fruit and deli meats, to keep him and Tony going until Bruce finishes his milkshake and eats whatever’s left.

Tony’s the one who remembers to get a change of clothes for them. He paws through the dressers and bring out sweats and t-shirts, although sometimes he mixes up who wears what (pretty obvious when he mixes up Bruce’s clothes, but they get a tired laugh from it). They change and strip in the living room and leave the pile of dirty clothes on the floor for tomorrow. They’ll clean it up tomorrow.

Bruce, once he finishes his milkshake, is finally alert enough to turn on the TV, where he searches for shows they can all enjoy without increasing their blood pressure. It’s usually some cheesy, nondescript program from the Golden Age of Television or it’s a dumb romantic comedy. Once they’re settled and semi-fed, they’ll sink into the couch as if it were made from quicksand. Someone - usually Tony - will bring out a blanket to cover them, and both Steve and Tony will sink their heads into Bruce’s soft stomach. Bruce’s belly is practically the width of two queen-sized feather pillows, and almost as soothing (as long as he isn’t too hungry).

Before they all fall asleep Bruce usually sighs, feeling the warmth of his boyfriend’s foreheads nestling on his tummy. He enjoys it; it’s comforting to him, and it relaxes him, too. He’ll stretch out his arms and lay them across Steve and Tony’s backs, and it doesn’t take them long to fall asleep like that. Sometimes they’ll catnap, but more often than not they’ll stay in those exact positions overnight.


	32. The One Where Bruce is Grumpy about the Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Does chubby Bruce like summer?_
> 
> _**Bruce isn’t a fan of summer, especially with the weight he’s gained (he was never a fan of it anyway since the accident, but being larger makes it worse).**_ Note: Slightly nsfw

“This is cruel and unusual punishment for a fat guy,” Bruce grumbled, and Steve shrugged while fanning Bruce with a magazine. The overhead fans were grinding at full speed and the few space fans they’d been able to procure were all pointed in Bruce’s direction, but it really didn’t matter. The air was still sticky and oppressive, and he felt all the more miserable as his own sweat clung to him like an old sock.

“The hotel said the AC would cut back on in a few hours, and we’re almost at the second hour mark. It shouldn’t be too long now. We could still head down to the beach, you know. It’s only a five minute walk.”

Bruce made a face. “It’s a hundred and eight out, Steve,” he whined. “It’s still ten degrees cooler inside, and I’m not doing that trek without cooling down first. Unless you feel like carrying me on your damn back.”

Steve opened his mouth, then wisely shut it when Bruce glared at him. Sure, there were a million things Steve could say - but fortunately he knew better. “I could get some more ice, if you want?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Bruce sighed. He flopped back on the bed, and it bounced slightly under his weight. He’d stripped down to his boxers but unless he wanted to go naked there wasn’t much else he could do about it. “When’s Tony supposed to be here?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“You sure?”

Steve laughed. “He promised on his father’s grave, he’d be here.”

“Not saying much,” Bruce growled.

Steve tsked at him, and Bruce grunted a little as the other man slowly rubbed his stomach. “Quit acting like a grumpy old man, Porkpie.”

“I _am_ a grumpy old man,” Bruce retorted, sighing. “Is there any more ice cream left?”

Steve laughed out loud. “You already ate two full tubs, but if you’re still hungry I’ll get room service up here again. It’s close enough to lunch; they should have something prepared, despite the AC.”

Bruce actually pouted. “The ice cream was all melty, so the calories didn’t count.”

Steve chuckled and began kissing his belly. “You know,” he murmured, punctuating his words between kisses. “I could help you take your mind off of the heat, until lunch gets here.”

“Mm…you could, at that.” Bruce smirked darkly at him. “Tony’ll be so mad he missed out.”

“Unless we record it.” Steve softly tugged Bruce’s waistband and ran his hand over his thigh. “It’ll give him something to watch on the plane ride over.” 

Bruce whined deep in his throat. “I think he deserves the torture. He could’ve fixed the AC, if he’d been around.”

“Shush,” Steve said, gently laying his lips against Bruce’s round cheek. “You stop complaining, and I’ll treat you to something I was saving for your birthday.”

“…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**

But neither of them were of any mind to notice, when the AC stuttered back on, thirty minutes later.


	33. The One Where Bruce Gets Drunk off his A**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Could we get some happy, drunk, hiccuping, chubby Bruce please._

Bruce’s deep, abiding love for ice cream was no secret to anyone on the team, but things got even better when Bruce decided to turn his passion for the sweet treat into something everyone could enjoy. He bought a bona fide ice cream maker and a few ice cream books, and began churning out sweet stuff like Ben and Jerry’s on a binge. And the stuff was fantastic - so good, that people started making personal requests (and he’d been more than happy to oblige). 

Only one Avenger didn’t take advantage of Bruce’s newly acquired skill, and it was one person Bruce really had hoped would.

“I’m not really a huge ice cream fan,” Tony admitted. “I mean, I like it and all, but I can probably take it or leave it. Go ahead, do your thing for the rest of the team - I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Bruce pouted a little; he had wanted to make Tony this one, little thing, something special that couldn’t be store bought (because honestly, there wasn’t a thing in the world Tony couldn’t just buy on a whim). Bruce had always wanted to do something unique for Tony, so he pressed a bit more. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Because maybe there’s something special I could whip up for you. You never know–”

Tony smiled and strolled over to the bar, where he poured a quick jigger of bourbon. “Brucie,” he said after a nip. “Promise you. _You’re_ my something special, and I don’t need anything else. Well, you and Steve, anyway.”

“Hmm…positive?”

Tony gave him a quick kiss and headed for the garage. “I’m sure. Have fun with it, Pooh Bear. Enjoy yourself. And make sure you eat enough of it, too - you know how grumbly Steve gets if you lose a pound or two.”

Bruce chuckled, but as he watched Tony head down the steps, he was still hell-bent on creating something that would surprise his lover, and knock his socks off. Because in Bruce’s mind, it was…well, it was more than ice cream. It was something that _had_ to happen. He wanted to create something that put an irreverent look of ecstasy and lust in Tony’s eyes; after all, it was only fair to return the favor.

**

Steve snorted at the collection of mixins and creams and flavorings and liquor bottles surrounding the kitchen island. “Uh, Bruce?” He came around with a smile and gently massaged Bruce’s neck. “You’re not secretly bartending at night, are you?”

Bruce reached back and rubbed Steve’s hand. “No, no. You know how Tony’s sort of dispassionate about ice cream, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, I’m creating a flavor he won’t be dispassionate about. Something infused with alcohol, but not cloyingly sweet. Something. warm, something inviting. Something different. Something…” he trailed.

“Something like him,” Steve finished. Bruce didn’t answer, but Steve understood. “I noticed you putting a lot of thought and effort into everyone’s. You really enjoy matching flavors to personalities, don’t you?”

“I do,” Bruce rumbled softly. “I…I want to pay everyone back in a special way. I have a home, Steve. With friends.” He glanced up, his full cheeks briefly reddening. “And lovers. I want to thank everyone with something personal. But everything in my life began changing for the better, because of Tony. He was the catalyst.”

Steve laughed, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek. “I totally get it, you want to come up with something extra special for him, to thank him. But don’t rack your brain too hard, Porkpie. It’s okay if Tony doesn’t get wowed by ice cream. You know he still loves you and me, regardless.”

“I know,” Bruce sighed. “But this…it’s just something I need to do.”

Steve shook his head, but kept a soft smile on his lips. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m headed into town, you need anything?”

“No,” Bruce said absently. He’d already begun putting a few ingredients together, on the hunt for Tony’s “flavor.” “I’m good.”

“Okay. See you in a few hours then.”

Bruce nodded, but Steve could tell he was already in the creative zone, and no longer listening.

**

Truth be told, Bruce did have a few blind spots when it came to certain things. Both Tony and Steve knew of them, but they loved Bruce all the more for his eccentricities because those blind spots were what made Bruce, Bruce: His dedication. His focus. His absolute single-mindedness where it counted. All of these things which tripled in intensity, when he was on the cusp of a breakthrough. But the in-the-zone problems also included neglecting obvious physical warning signals, like how tired he was. Or how hungry. Or etcetera. And so, about thirty minutes in his trial taste tests for the perfect base, Bruce felt a little warm and lightheaded, and maybe a little dizzy. But since his mood had suddenly lightened considerably he paid no attention to how he felt, and in fact hummed a little to himself. _Hm,_ he thought fuzzily, sipping the horchata and bourbon base. _No. Too sweet._

And then, of course, he did what he did with all the failures: he drained the shot glass. It would be a terrible waste to dump it, after all. 

**

Tony was wiping his hands on an oily rag when he nearly bumped into Steve coming from the opposite direction. “Hey, where’d you run off to?”

Steve held up a handful of bags. “Picked up a few things from around town.” He headed for their bedrooms.

“You know we have JARVIS for that, right?” Tony called after him. “People deliver nowadays, Steve.”

“We had delivery in the 1920s and 30s too, Tony,” he fired back. “I needed some air.”

Tony made a displeased noise in his throat. “You’ve gotta be careful, Steve,” Tony growled, passing through their bedroom on the way to the bathroom. “You’re famous now. Mobs, paps, villains…you shouldn’t go out there without one of us.”

Steve snorted and stuck his head around the corner. “It’s New York, Tony. No one cares.”

Tony scrubbed his hands under the sink’s warm water, and used a nail brush for the gunk wedged beneath his nails. “Still,” he grumbled. “You never know.”

Steve chuckled. He understood Tony’s apprehension, but he’d never share it. New York was his home. Sure there was a lot more to it now, but the culture of it was pretty much the same, and it was nice to get out into it, every so often.

“I love that you care,” he said, acknowledging and tolerating Tony’s mother-henning, “but I think I’ll be fine.” He decided to change subjects with a small sigh. “So how’s Bruce doing?”

“Huh?” Tony dried his hands on a towel and frowned. He caught Steve’s reflection through the mirror, staring back at him. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen him in a while. Said he was going to make more ice cream, but that was a few hours ago.”

“Maybe he’s in the lab?”

“Maybe,” Tony said, trailing. But his paranoia began getting the better of him. Swallowing a little he tromped through the living room and headed for the kitchen. “Bruce? Brucie bear? You around–?”

Silence.

Feeling even more apprehensive, Tony poked his head in the kitchen. He frowned, seeing a colossal mess (which wasn’t like Bruce at all), but he didn’t see hide nor hair of the scientist.

“Bruce, babe. Ollie-ollie oxen free, c'mon. Don’t make your partners worry–”

“Heee- _hic_ -heee..." 

Tony snorted. Okay, so that almost sounded like Bruce. But where was he? Dammit, it wasn’t like the guy was all that small anymore. Finding him shouldn’t be that hard.

He crept further into the kitchen. “Bruuuce, hon’. Where are you, and why are you hiding?”

“Shhhh–s'prise. Don’t tell T- _hic_ -ony.”

Tony was a genius. World class, if you asked him personally. So in milliseconds his eyes flitted to the mess on the counter, and upended liquor bottles (with all sorts of sticky stuff dripping on the floor), and he knew exactly what happened. He rolled his lips, to keep from laughing. 

“Don’t tell Tony what, Pooh Bear?” Half-way in the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of an untucked shirt-tail behind the kitchen island. _Ahh,_ he thought. _There you are._ “That you had yourself a little drinky party, and forgot to tell anyone?”

“Huhn–? Oh, no. No, no, no– _hic_ -noo. I…I fuckin’ Eureka’d–ed.”

“You what now?” Tony planted his elbows on the island and peered over the side. He almost burst out laughing then and there, taking in a thoroughly soused Bruce, with one shirttail lucked in, and the other side messily undone. The last time he’d seen Bruce so completely debauched, it was because he and Steve had gotten a little frisky with him, after he’d won a prestigious award. “What did you ‘eureka’?”

Bruce rolled his head back in an attempt to figure out where the voice was coming from, and finally tilted it at the right angle, to see Tony’s face. When Tony waved at him, he began giggling uncontrollably. “Heee–oh, shit. That’s hil- _hic_ -arious. You–you’re upside down! How'dya get upside-down?”

Tony did chuckle, then. “Ohh, Brucie-bear,” he said fondly. He reached down and adjusted Bruce’s glasses, which were half-falling from his ears. “You’re definitely in a state.”

“'Course,” Bruce said, snorting. He had an empty brown bottle in his lap, and put his lips to it. “I am a genius,” he said slowly. He blew into the bottle, which made a low, pleasant _whooon_ noise. “We’re definitiv–defnat–def-in-ite-ly in New York.” Then he looked up in mock horror, finally realizing something important. “To-o-o-ony…! No, no…n- _ic_...no! You’re not s'posed to be here! You’ll spoil the su- _hic_ -prise.”

Tony gently smoothed down Bruce’s curls, which were going every way but down. “What surprise, baby bear?”

Bruce motioned for Tony to come to his level. “C'mere, c'mere. I gotta…gotta whisper it.”

Smirking, Tony crouched down beside Bruce. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but instead of an answer he let out a long, low, almost keening laugh, and he bumped his head into Tony’s shoulder. “Ahee-heh! You thought you could trick me,“ he sing-songed. “But I’m…I’m- _hic_ -too sma-a-art…hey, hey. Hey. Hey Tones. Wanna fuck?”

“Ohh, tempting, Brucie-bear.” Tony chuckled as Bruce tried burrowing his head into his lap. “But I’m not the type to fuck someone who won’t have fond memories of it later. How ‘bout we get you to bed instead?”

Tony swore, on his sainted aunt three times removed, that Bruce was motorboating his crotch. “Nah…naaah. ‘I’m- _ic_ -fine, I’m f….”

Bruce trailed off, and Tony realized he’d passed out in his lap.

Tony snorted and shook his head, and he was genuinely laughing, now. “Steve?” He called. “Steve, honey, can ya come in the kitchen? Gonna need some help here with the big guy.”

***

Bruce’s drunkenness didn’t amuse Steve nearly as much as it amused Tony - one, because he’d been saddled with carrying the 300-plus pound man like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder ( _“oh come on, Steve. You’ve lifted tractor trailers before. Bruce is not _that _heavy”_ ), and two, because he’d had plans for all three of them that evening, that included some of the “toys” he’d picked up in town that afternoon. So there was that. Instead, he let Tony undress Bruce and get him to bed while he worked off some of his pent-up energy by cleaning the kitchen.__

__Unfortunately his cleaning binge hadn’t been enough to work off his sexual tension, so instead he returned to their bedroom in a semi-foul mood, and began stripping for the shower. He frowned as he looked over at Tony who was already in his pj bottoms. He had Bruce’s head in his lap, and was slowly fluffing his curls._ _

__“We should probably put a trash bin by the bed,” Tony said. “Just in case.”_ _

__Steve grunted and headed for the bathroom. When he placed the bin by the bed, he glared at Tony and put his hands on his slim hips.“I blame you for this, you know.”_ _

___“Me?”_ Tony squawked. Bruce moaned a little in his lap, and he lowered his voice. “Me?” He rasped. “I’m not the one who got him tanked! Although,” he said softer, gently kissing Bruce’s forehead. “I kinda wanna know why. It’s not like him to go on a bender. That’s my job.”_ _

__Steve made a face. “Tony, he wasn’t going on a bender.” Grumbling, he tossed his shirt into the hamper. “He probably got drunk on accident, making your special ice cream.”_ _

__Tony frowned. “Wait, what? What’re you talking about?”_ _

__“Well…it was supposed to be a surprise.”_ _

__Tony quirked an eyebrow and he stole a glance at the comatose Bruce. “So he really was making something up for me.”_ _

__“Yup.” Steve headed for the shower. He figured he’d have to put it on “icy-blast.” If there was such a setting. “He wanted to create something for you, thanking you for everything you’ve done.”_ _

__“Well…fuck,” Tony murmured, rifling his fingers through Bruce’s hair._ _

__“Apparently not tonight,” Steve groused. Then he quietly shut the bathroom door._ _

__**  
At 11:30am the next morning, Tony casually strolled by the breakfast table, catching Bruce moaning low and holding his head in his hands. An untouched cup of coffee sat as his elbow._ _

__“Rough night?”_ _

__Bruce lifted his head just enough, and cracked open one eyelid. If looks could kill, Tony would’ve been ash. “Kill me. Kill me now.”_ _

__“Sorry. Left my killing axe downstairs in the shop. Good news, though. That ice cream you made for me? You were spot on. It was fantastic. Seriously, I’m not lying, Bruce. I fucking ate that mother up.”_ _

__Bruce smirked a little, but even that felt like too much effort. “Good,” he huffed. He rifled his fingers through his wild curls. “At least my suffering wasn’t for nothing, then.” He frowned a little. “When did you eat it?”_ _

__Tony waved his arm absently. “Oh, I had it for breakfast.”_ _

__Bruce opened his mouth, then slowly shut it. “It was probably like, 60-proof, Tony.”_ _

__Tony shrugged. “So? It’s five o'clock somewhere. Or at least it was, when I ate it. In fact,” he smirked. “I wouldn’t mind some more, if you can whip some up.”_ _

__Bruce chuckled, then winced and held his head. “Ow. Trust me, I would, if I could remember what I put in it.” He shrugged a little. “Sorry, Tony.”_ _

__“No worries, Brucie-bear.” Tony kissed the top of his head, and set to making eggs and bacon, and toast. Bruce might not eat it at first, but some good grease and carbs were the best hangover cures in existence. And Tony would know.“I loved every ounce of sweat, tears, and blood alcohol content you put in it. So thank you, right back.”_ _

__“You’re…welcome.” Steve had probably said something, but somehow, Bruce was okay with it. Despite how crappy he felt, at least he’d accomplished his goal, and apparently made the nirvana of ice creams. It felt good that Tony enjoyed it, even if he couldn’t replicate it. And even when Tony forced him to eat something, to settle his head, he couldn’t help a small smile across his lips._ _

__Homemade gifts would always be worth the trouble._ _


	34. The One Where Bruce Dresses up for Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: What did Chubby Bruce do for Halloween?_
> 
> _**He honestly didn’t want to do much, but Tony and Steve were persuasive…** _

***

“Bruce. C’mon. It’s for charity."

He folded his arms around his ample stomach. “Well, if I _have_ to, I don’t see why I can’t just go as a doctor.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s a hospital, Bruce; those kids don’t need to see one more guy in a lab coat. Or scrubs.”

“Well, then, I won’t go,” Bruce said stubbornly. He gestured to Tony. “The rest of the team will be there, and the kids really don’t know me from Adam - the Hulk, sure. But not Doctor Banner.”

Tony threw up his hands. “And that’s one more reason why we’re going out there, Brucie, to show the man behind the Hulk. That was your idea, wasn’t it? To humanize the Hulk?”

“But not during Halloween,” Bruce fired back. “And since when did the _team_ ” he said, holding up air quotes, “decide to go in costume? I thought we’d be wearing our uniforms. “

Steve had quietly watched from the sidelines as Tony and Bruce hashed it out, but at Bruce’s last quip he decided to interject his two cents. “It’s not really in the spirit of Halloween, though, is it?” At Bruce’s twisted expression, he barreled on. “I mean, that’s still who we are, normally. We wanted a chance for the kids go dress up however they wanted to, without feeling pressured to dress like us. They might feel like they had to dress like superheroes, if we did it.”

Bruce grumble-sighed, and glared at the two men. “Fine. You want to go in original costumes? Okay, great. But if you want me to go with you, then here’s the challenge: Find something that fits me,” he said, gesturing to his huge body, “and then I dare you. I double-dog _dare_ you to find matching costumes that go along with whatever you find for me. You do that,” he growled menacingly, “and I’ll gladly go without complaint. 

“But good effing luck.”

Bruce stormed from the room, leaving Tony and Steve to exchange puzzled glances. _Yeah,_ he thought darkly. _Go ahead and try._

Bruce made a face as he returned to his lab. It wasn’t that he was really angry at them; he’d actually tried finding something to wear. But he’d been frustrated, more or less, with the lack of costume choices for men of his…well, stature. Sure, there were buff costumes, but he didn’t want to be a caveman. Or a pumpkin. Or an M & M. Or a stupid Minion. And honestly, he was pretty much too big for the market sizes. He’d have to come up with something original, and he honestly didn’t have the patience after trolling through countless catalogs where the “extra large” sizes ran at least ten inches too small in any direction.

It frustrated him on a level he’d never anticipated, and it was making him feel uncomfortable with his size. Which he didn’t like. At all.

He huffed to himself. “Well, we’ll see,” he muttered, sliding a sample beneath his electron microscope. “If they find something, I’ll be stunned enough to do whatever they want."

***

“Oh, my God.” Bruce gaped at them both, unsure if he should laugh or cry. “You’v got to be kidding me.”

Tony held up a hand. “You did say to find something that fits you. And we delivered our end of the bargain.”

Bruce groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But _this_? It’s not even…I mean, it’s not even the right season!”

Steve softly smiled at him. “Maybe not. But remember, some of the children are terminal, Muffin, and they might not get a chance to see us again. Shouldn’t we try giving them the best of both?”

Bruce ran a hand down his face. Steve had a very valid point. And yes, he did promise, so–

“Wait,” he scowled. “What’re you two going as?”

Tony and Steve exchanged a grin, dug into the costume bag., and brought out part of their costumes.

Bruce’s eyebrow shot up. “ _Wow_. All right. You win. And if nothing else, I can say your costumes are even sillier than mine, so I won’t feel so out of place.” He shook his head and sighed heavily. “Okay, you win. I can’t complain, because you actually found something that worked…and well. Yeah. It’s for the children.”

“Exactly,” Tony said. He pulled out the rest of Bruce’s costume and held it up against Bruce’s body. “Now let’s see if we can’t get my tailor to make it work even better.”

**

And so, on October 31st at the Morgan-Stanley Children’s Hospital, a few special visitors came rolling by. Not only did Robin Hood ( _”that’s cheating, Barton”_ ), a Minion (Thor just thought they were cute), a ballerina ( _”that’s also cheating, Romanoff!”_ ), and a pirate ( _”aka Captain Obvious, Nick”)_ , show up, but…so did Santa! And one of Santa’s elves! And _Rudolph_! The kids squealed in delight as Santa brought a bag full of toys wrapped in orange and black paper (it was still Halloween, after all), while his blond elven helper in a neon green and orange tunic with bells, and striped black and white tights threw out all sorts of Halloween and Christmas candy ( _”where did you find candy canes this time of year, Tony?” “Steve, the stores had ‘em out since September. Trust me, you can find candy canes whenever you want ‘em.”_ ) 

And the kids swore they saw Santa’s eyes twinkle when one of the sicker children hugged his leg, thanking him, and they swore it was because he probably had magical mutant powers ( _”are you crying, Bruce?” “No. Of course not.”_ ).

In the end, everyone went away with their hearts two-sizes larger. And Bruce vowed to be Santa every Halloween, for as long as the children wanted him.


	35. The One Where Tony gets Bruce a Build-A-Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: I just started work in Build a Bear and they have this Halloween werewolf which is just adorable and reminded me of Bruce for some reason... Prompt where Tony gets one for chubby Bruce? Would he like that kind of thing?_
> 
> _**He might - but it’s not something he normally would keep, or seek out himself.** _

Bruce blinked, and turned the toy over in his hands. “Uh…what is it?”

Tony snorted and snatched it back. “It’s a werewolf, of course. It’s kinda cute, right? Reminded me of grumpy you, the morning after a marathon science session.”

Bruce crinkled his nose. “I remind you of a stuffed werewolf…?”

Grinning, Tony patted Bruce’s huge tummy. “Well, stuffed, for sure.”

“Cut it out,” Bruce rumbled softly. He gently plucked the werewolf back from Tony’s grabby hands. “This really reminds you of me, huh?”

Maybe the words hit too close to home, but Bruce noticed a small blush dotting Tony’s cheeks. “A little, I guess. It’s no big deal, though. I can take it back - I just thought it was funny.”

He made a motion to take it back, but Bruce cupped it in the crook of his elbow. “No,” he murmured. “I'll hang on to it.”

Bruce kept it in his office, but Tony figured Bruce just thought it was a silly memento. But Steve knew the truth. Because whenever Tony went out of town, he sometimes caught Bruce carrying the stuffed toy around, or putting it in his lab coat pocket so it was close by and easy reach. And one time when Tony was away, when Bruce thought no one was around, Steve caught Bruce kissing its nose. “Miss you,” he said, before he’d stuffed it back in his pocket.


	36. The One Where Bruce Gets Stuck (Part Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Alright, to top the last anon off, a stuck chubby bruce having to try and struggle his own way out ;) whether he has to give up and wait for help or not is your call :P"_
> 
> _**((Lol! Stuck Bruce again, for the win….))** _

***

“Sir…”

“Hmm…” Bruce slid one of his mock-ups to a 3D imaging model, hoping he’d have better luck using a new schematic. “What is it, Jarvis?” He sort of half-answered because he was really concentrating (and he didn’t trust himself to keep his place on something this huge). “Can you save this for me?”

“Sir…unfortunately, I don’t think I can.”

Bruce immediately stopped and blinked at the ceiling. “What? Are you…out of memory?” He really didn’t think that could ever be possible, what with Tony’s constant updates, but he didn’t know everything about Jarvis, either.

“No.” Jarvis paused a beat too long, and Bruce chewed his bottom lip nervously. That did not sound good at all.

“Jarvis. Talk to me, okay? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong. Do you want me to get Tony?”

“I believe Sir is across town. And this is a rather urgent, physical matter, I’m afraid.”

Bruce gulped and put down his data pad to give Jarvis his full attention. “Okay, uh…okay. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll try and help.”

If Jarvis could sigh, he certainly was doing so now. “Lab 7B has been using mice for their experiments.”

Bruce nodded. “Dr. Murtaugh’s project. I’m familiar.”

“It appears one of the rodents may have escaped, and is…currently chewing an essential relay circuit.”

_Ah,_ Bruce thought. _Hence the slower speed..._ ”What can I do to help?”

Pause. “The mouse is currently beneath our feet, within the tunnel.”

Bruce secretly groaned. Last time he tried accessing the tunnel hatch, he’d gotten stuck, and both Tony and Steve had to help him out. And neither of them were around this time.

“Uh…are you sure?”

Pause. “Posi..tive. And…it’s…getting…worse…Sir.”

Bruce made a face. He was closest, and he’d have to help Jarvis immediately Or they’d lose what little connection they had.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Tell me what we need to do.”

**

Fortunately it didn’t take long; Jarvis - even at his slower pace - found a way that Bruce could rush the mouse into a one-way conduit, and close it up. So the mouse ended up stuck in a tube, and not going anywhere.

Same as, well, unfortunately, him.

Bruce sighed for the third time, and tried wiggling out of the hatch. Again, he got in okay, but going out was impossible. He couldn’t figure out why. 

“Crap,” Bruce muttered between his fingers. He was half-in and half-out, and as stuck as a humanities major in advanced calculus. “Jarvis?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner.”

“First, are you ‘fixed’?”

“I’m operational, yes. Further adjustments may be required, but they can wait until Sir returns.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, that’s one good thing, anyway. So here’s the second thing. Is there anyone around who can help me?”

“No one has immediate access to Sir’s private labs. And he’s most insistent on keeping access between you, Captain Rogers, and Ms. Potts.”

“Got it,” Bruce said, sighing. For the fourth time. “I wouldn’t want to change that anyway. I understand the security reasons, I just wish one of them was available to help out.”

“I could call one of them for you, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, don’t. Not unless they’re headed back to the tower and not involved in any meetings. It’s not like they need to be pulled away from anything vital, and I can stand it a little while longer.”

He struggled a few times more, but realized all ti was doing was making things worse. Damn, he should’ve tried it without his lab coat…that may have worked. “Jarvis,” he finally said. “Talk to me, okay? Just keep me calm enough so I don’t Hulk out. Talk to me about anything at all - it doesn’t matter what.”

“Should I tell you about the day Sir taught me to think for myself?”

Bruce smiled softly. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

**

An hour or so later, both Steve and Tony arrived at the tower at the same time, after going to one of Fury’s briefings (no, Bruce didn’t need to come but yes, both of them had to instead). Jarvis gently informed them of what happened, but they didn’t laugh this time. 

After getting Bruce out and fixing Jarvis, Tony realized his faux pas and doubled the hatch size. Because, yeah. He should’ve known better.

But he was definitely surprised when Bruce began singing, “You Are My Sunshine” to him. Maybe it was coincidence that it was the first song Jarvis sang back to him without prompting, but he’d never be totally sure.


	37. The One Where Bruce and Steve Take Care of Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "It's obvious that Tony takes care of Bruce when he's sad, sick, or hurt? But does Bruce take care of Tony whenever he's sick hurt or whatever or does he leave that to Steve??"_
> 
> _**He does, he just might be oblivious to it at first.** _

***

_“Aschew!”_

Steve put down the book in his hands, frowning. “Tony, are you getting sick?”

The billionaire waved him off. “Nah. Just allerg– _aschew!_ –ies. _Koff_ ”

Bruce brought out the tub of full butter popcorn for their evening flick, and placed it on the coffee table. “You’ve been saying that all day. I told you to take a Benadryl–”

“Nah. Makes me too sleepy. _Koff-koff._ Ugh.” He lay his head against the back of the couch. “I might later. Can’t shake this bastard off.”

Steve’s frown deepened, and he got up from his chair to feel Tony’s forehead, even as he waved him off. “Hm. You feel a little warm to me.”

“’Cause I’m hot stuff– _ehh-schew_ ”

Bruce and Steve shared a look. “Now I know you’re sick,” Bruce muttered. “That quip was terrible. Why didn’t you say you were feeling bad?”

Steve was already grabbing blankets and pillows from the closet in answer to Tony’s weak protests. “Because I’m not. I’m not sick, because I refuse to be around sick pe– _koff-koff_ -people. Ipso facto, I cannot get sick.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Steve said. He pulled Tony’s legs across the couch and forced a few pillows under his head. Tony gave him a mean look, but Steve flipped a blanket over him anyway.

“It’s not.” Bruce went to the cupboard and pulled out the vitamin C and tea bags. “Tony, I told you to go get your flu shot two weeks ago. Did you?” 

He sniffled. “Why should I, if I’m not around sick people?”

Steve and Bruce groaned at the same time. “Dammit, Tony,” Bruce spat. “You’re not invulnerable. Don’t try to pretend you are, okay? 

“Jarvis,” Bruce barked. “What’s Tony’s temperature?”

“Sir’s temperature is currently at 101.3 degrees, and steadily increasing.”

“God dammit, Tony--”

“Great bedside manner you got their, Doc,” Tony muttered. He wrapped Steve’s blanket around his shoulders a little tighter, but both saw him fight down a shiver. “You treat all your patients this way, _koff_ , or just the ones you’re mad at?”

“Bruce, it’s not his fault,” Steve said quietly. He handed Tony a box of tissues before the man went into another fit of sneezes. 

“Yeah, it sort of is.” Bruce balled up his fists and put his hands on his fleshy hips. “Congratulations, Tony,” he growled. “You have the flu.”

“Hah. Like you can tell.”

“Uh, yeah, I can.” He pointed to himself. “Practicing medical doctor, right here.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony muttered, burying himself under the covers. “Then where’s your license, huh?”

“Tony–”

“Shh, Muffin, calm down.”

Bruce made a noise and ran his thumb and forefinger beneath his eyeglasses. “It’s the fucking flu, Steve. I _know_ it is.”

“I’m sure you’re right, and I’m sure Tony gets it, too.” He tucked Tony into the couch and went into the kitchen while motioning for Bruce to follow him. “Let’s talk.”

Steve let Bruce pace it out in the kitchen before trying again. “It’s not the same as the 1920s, you told me that.”

“It’s still dangerous,” Bruce snapped. And then, realizing he’d transferred his anger to Steve, he took a large calming breath and plopped heavily onto a breakfast nook bench. The bench croaked ominously under his heavy form, but neither of them took much notice of it.

“Steve…people can still die from flu complications. People with compromised immune systems, the elderly, people with–” he took off his glasses and gestured lamely in Tony’s direction. “People with congestive heart problems.” 

Bruce sighed and swallowed. His hands shook as he adjusted his glasses on his face. “Tony doesn’t have our advanced immune system. His sicknesses can seriously hurt him. We could lose him, Steve–”

“Shh.” Steve wrapped Bruce up in his arms, even before the tears began to fall. “That just means we have to be extra vigilant, right? And watch for any funny turns?” Bruce snuffled in Steve’s embrace and slowly nodded. “Then let’s take care of him the best way we can, okay? He’ll be fine.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Bruce said, sniffling.

“No, but I know how to make people feel better.”

Bruce half-sniffled and half-laughed. “Yeah. True.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed from Steve’s arms and wiped his eyes. “Jarvis,” he muttered. “Contact Tony’s doctor and have him put in a prescription for Tamiflu, or an equivalent. If we get to it fast enough, it could cut the time he has to spend sick.”

“There’s my Doctor Dumplin’.”

Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, well,” he sniffed. “Some of the time, anyway.”

**

Tony’s symptoms took a turn for the worse the first few days, but by the fourth day he started feeling a little better, and they were able to help him out on the terrace for some fresh air. Bruce was still a little mad at him for the first day or so, but he gradually began helping Steve with Tony’s care. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but Tony being sick reminded him of how fragile their relationship was, and how little time they actually had.

Tony got it, though, and he remembered. And two weeks later when he felt like himself and the pair were at work in the lab, he spoke up. 

“Hell, it could be as dumb as a bus.”

“What?” Bruce frowned, but continued staring into a microscope. He was used to Tony’s weird tangents. 

“Well, maybe not a bus. I hate public transportation. But a car wreck, like Mom and Dad…yeah. Or getting too drunk and aspirating, although that’s less likely these days. Or even choking on a piece of Kobe steak. That’d be kinda ironic, but more realistic–”

“Tony,” Bruce said quietly. Tony suddenly had his full attention. “What the hell are you saying?”

Sighing, Tony flicked a display from his screen. “I’m saying, Brucie, that none of us are promised any kind of long life. Any of us could bite it like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “and we couldn’t do a thing about it. It could be any stupid little thing. Slipping in the bathtub. Blood poisoning from a bad splinter. Anything.”

He paused to look into Bruce’s very still face. “That’s not your worry, my Pooh Bear Honeypot. What we’ve got is now, and whatever else happens, happens - whether it’s an attack on the tower from space, or a lowly infection gone rogue. So no more of this worrying shit, okay? It won’t do any good anyway.”

Bruce swallowed and stared at his feet, but when Tony came over to hug him, he melted in the other man’s arms.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce croaked. Tony continued to hug him, even as a few more tears fell.

Bruce still worried a little, even after Tony’s pep talk, but he knew Tony was right. And he was more determined to live in the moment and savor everything, because he didn’t want to miss one single memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I completed this story before CA: Civil War premiered.


	38. The One Where Bruce and Natasha Have a Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: "Chubby Bruce and some Natasha interaction?"_
> 
> _**Sure! And this turned out a bit longer than expected…** _

***

It wasn’t like they were that close to begin with, though he still felt comfortable calling her a friend (instead something bland, like "colleague"). But Bruce had noticed that Natasha was even less inclined to be around him, since he’d put on the weight. She’d been subtle about it - enough that it’d taken him a while to put the puzzle pieces together - but Steve first noticed she was spending less time around the tower. And it all came to a head, when they’d scheduled a cookout during Memorial Day, on the tower’s penthouse floor. They made sure everyone could show (even Thor). But when she no-showed them for the millionth time, Tony hit the proverbial roof.

“Barton,” Tony snapped. “What’s her deal? This is the fifth time she’s missed one of these things. She can’t clear her schedule for one lousy day?”

Clint shrugged and grabbed a hot dog off the picnic table. “Dunno,” he said honestly, and Tony glared harder at him. “C’mon, Stark, she doesn’t tell me everything, and I’m not her handler. It may look like we’re glued at the hip, but if Tash wants to beat it for a while, that’s her right.” He shrugged and grabbed a handful of chips to put on his paper plate. “She gets a little funny sometimes. That’s just the way she is.”

“And she can’t ‘unfunny’ herself to see her friends?”

Clint’s eyebrow bobbed a little as he crammed part of the hot dog in his mouth. “Really?” he said, mouth full. “You do know who you’re talking about, right?”

Tony grunted and rolled his eyes, but Bruce caught some of the exchange. He frowned, suspecting it might have to do with him, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. It wouldn’t help the team any if she’d begun avoiding him, and it could seriously become a problem, if they got into an epic battle and she didn’t trust the Hulk.

Sighing heavily, Bruce put down his (fifth? Sixth?) hot dog and decided to call her directly.

**

They all had ways of contacting one another, just in case. Ever since Tony’s fall in Malibu, they’d exchanged “emergency” numbers - phone numbers that they promised to answer, come hell or high water, no matter the situation. Natasha was secretive enough that she switched out her emergency contact number every few months; she’d just changed it when Bruce called her.

“You do know,” she said, by way of hello, “that I’ll have to burn this number now? This better be important.”

Bruce chuckled softly. “It is. I need to talk to you.”

The pause was longer than he expected from her, but not so long that he’d thought she’d hung up on him.

“When and where?”

“Coffee,” he offered, not wanting to spook her if his suspicions were correct, “at that little independent place, off 56th and Lexington.” He tapped his chin. “Tomorrow at 9:30am?”

“I’ll be there.”

And she hung up the phone before he said another word.

“Well,” Bruce sighed, staring at his phone. “That went better than I expected.”

**

He arrived at the coffee place a little after 9:15 but he fully expected Natasha to be nearby, or watching him. Part of him - the green part - was a bit higher on alert than he would’ve liked, but Bruce tamped him down. “Neither the time nor the place,” he muttered softly to himself. The place wasn’t overly crowded for a Wednesday, and he figured it was because normal people would’ve been at work. A few stragglers sat at the coffee bar facing the store front windows, but Bruce found a two-person table to suit their needs. The stools were a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, nothing to get him stuck, on the other, his posterior was entirely too wide to sit comfortably. 

Still, he’d make do.

Sighing, he went to the counter and ordered two slices of cake and a croissant, with a large specialty decaf. He considered ordering something else from the breakfast menu, but…that probably would look bad, even though he knew what he ordered wouldn’t be enough to satisfy.

The barista promised to call his name for his coffee and gave him a tray for his food. But by the time he turned around, he nearly jumped a foot: Natasha had already made herself comfortable at his table, and was sipping from a demitasse mug. Hell, he hadn’t even seen her come in, let alone order.

“I won’t bite,” she said coyly. She sipped from her mug with a small smile. “Well? Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there?”

Bruce made a face and lumbered over. “You’ve got to stop doing that,” he grumbled. He put down his tray and methodically began pinching off pieces of his croissant and popping them in his mouth. “You know what happens if you startle me.”

“Psst.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got such a lid on your alter ego, Doc, that I could light a bundle of firecrackers under your office chair and you wouldn’t bat an eye.”

Bruce suddenly stopped chewing. “Please don’t do that.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t, but the truth stands.” 

Bruce chuckled darkly and the silence between them lingered until the barista called his name. 

“Decaf cafe mocha, extra whip, extra cream - _Bruce_!”

“That’s mine,” he said needlessly, and Natasha wisely remained silent. When he returned with his tall drink, he smirked at his lemon cake; the right corner had been pinched clean off.

“I could get you one, if you’re hungry.”

She shook her head. “I just wanted a taste. It’s good.”

Bruce snorted at her and took a sip of his coffee before pinching off another corner, and popping it in his mouth. “Mm,” he agreed, nodding. “So…?” He trailed, letting her decide whether or not she wanted to start.

“You know I’m avoiding you,” she said. She took another bird-like sip of her coffee and, despite the contrary, took another pinch from the lemon cake. “But you really don’t know why.”

Bruce took a longer drink and finished off the croissant. “It’s all right, Natasha. Getting used to me being this fat takes time for some people. I’m the same man, though, I promise I–”

“No,” she said, touching his hand unexpectedly. “No, Bruce. Not like that. Like I said, you don’t know why.”

He wished the stool had a back. Instead he folded his arms across his larger stomach and eyed her critically. “Then enlighten me, okay?” He was uncharacteristically angry now. “We can’t have _this_ ,” he gestured between them, “whatever it is. Because so help me, Natasha–”

“Anatoli Popov,” she blurted, and Bruce kept silent because Natasha most definitely did not blurt anything. “He…someone I knew. From my earlier days.”

Bruce’s continued silence prompted her to continue, and she fidgeted a little in her chair. “He was one of my trainers when I was nine or ten years old. A huge bear of a man, who smelled of peppermints, and he always had a mint in his pockets for the girls.” A smile briefly flittered across her features, then vanished. “He was the only one of my trainers who was truly kind to me. The only one I trusted.”

“And you’re associating my size with his,” Bruce surmised. He nibbled on the lemon cake with a small frown. “I’m bringing back some unpleasant memories, then.”

“Yes…and no,” she admitted. She shrugged and finished off her coffee. “Anatoli was our maths instructor. Our first one. But,” she huffed, sighing heavily. “He was also a test.”

Bruce felt his toes grow cold, and he took a large gulp from coffee. “You had to kill him.”

She nodded. “One of us had to. They told us in the night, that he was to be dead by morning. Or one of us would die. I actually had a heart, Bruce. I decided to kill him, because I knew I’d be most efficient at it, and he wouldn’t suffer if another girl tried.”

Bruce sighed deeply and finished off his coffee, then began working on the fudge cake. “I’m not him, Natasha.”

“I know.” Her lip quirked and she pinched off a piece of the chocolate cake. “You’re probably twenty pounds bigger than he was.”

He smirked, then slowly felt it fade from his lips. “But the painful memory remains.”

“That it does." She popped the cake in her mouth. “I’ve almost sorted it out in my mind, though. Otherwise I would’ve told you to fuck off.”

Bruce found that funnier than he should’ve and he nearly choked on his cake. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he laughed, when he finally found his voice.

“Me too.” 

They remained eating quietly together, until Natasha got up and bought another slice of lemon cake, as well as a few more pastries from the front. They changed subjects, talking about dumb, mundane things, until the pastries were gone and the coffee shop started busying for the lunch crowd.

“Are you better now?” Bruce finally asked, when they got ready to leave. A wind picked up at the cafe’s entrance and her scarf fluttered between them.

“A little. But if I give you a cold stare here or there, don’t take it personally. Anatoli was…a very strong father figure at a crucial time. I have to argue down nine-year-old me, that you’re not his replacement.”

Bruce blushed slightly. “Well, I should hope not. I’m not _that_ old.”

“No. You’re not.” She gave him a swift kiss on his cheek, and surreptitiously pinched his side until he yelped. “You’re squishier, though.”

“Thanks,” he grunted darkly, but a smile teased his lips. “So…are we good?”

She paused as a small grin pinked her lips. “We’re good.” She turned to stalk off, but then hurled a final declaration across her shoulder, as if proving she was still the notorious Black Widow: “But if you tell anyone about this, I will hurt you.”

“Your secret’s safe.” Bruce smiled and shook his head. “Besides, no one would believe me.”

From then on, she began showing up to more of the team get-togethers. Tony assumed Clint talked to her about it, but Clint swore up and down that he had nothing to do with it.


	39. The One Where Bruce Needs Medical Tests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: How would Bruce react if he had to have some medical tests done? Do the boys help keep him calm?_  
> 
> **Admittedly, Bruce acts like some doctors who need tests - he _hates_ getting treatment. And with his background, of having been Ross’ lab experiment, it’s that much worse.**

***

“I...what--?" Pause. "Sorry, no. Not at this time." Another, longer pause. "Of course I do. I _do_ understand the...”

Tony frowned as he watched Bruce’s knuckles tighten around his Starkphone. 

“Really? Well I don’t... that may be true, but it’s not _necessary_ , is it--?" Bruce's knuckles became an ungodly shade of white mixed with mint, and Tony chewed his lower lip. "Well. I’ll think about it but that’s the best I can offer you. Yes…another time. _Certainly._ ”

Bruce quickly ended the conversation and shoved the phone into his lab coat pocket with undue force. Tony continued to tinker with Jarvis’ latest updates on another monitor, but quirked his eyebrow in Bruce's general direction. “Problem, Bruciekins?”

“Hm?” Bruce blinked, as if suddenly noticing Tony in the room. “No,” he sighed. “No. It’s not a problem. It’s nothing, actually.”

Tony shook his head but kept his eyes on his monitor. “You’re a terrible liar, Bruce. Do I have to tag team with Captain Courageous to get you to spill? Or is this something you’re going to tell me right now, because you know you’re supposed to?”

Bruce grunted, making a sour face. He plopped heavily on his reinforced chair and rolled a little across the anti-static mat, propelling himself with a foot. “It’s not serious, Tony.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Really, it isn’t. It’s just…” He sighed again and ran a hand through his thick, salt and pepper locks. “It’s Dr. Cho. She thinks I should come in for a few, specific tests.”

Tony straightened in his chair and gave Bruce his full attention. “What’s going on?”

“See, this is why I don’t–” He groaned a little and raked his curls. “ _Nothing’s_ wrong, Tony, I told you as much. She just wants to make sure my stats are steady.” He shrugged and raised his chin defensively. “My numbers changed after gaining all this weight, and my metabolic…situation raised some concerns. And since I’m the only Hulk she knows, she wants to make sure the variances aren’t offsetting anything else in my body.

“Plus, it’s ridiculous,” Bruce continued, waving away the comment perched on Tony’s lips. “Even if I _were_ messed up, there’s nothing anyone could do about it.”

Tony gave him a hard look. “Don’t sell her short, Bruce. She knows all us superhero types fairly well. Except you, because you’ve been fucking avoiding her, you big chicken.”

Bruce almost sneered. “Don’t you think I know my stats better than she does? For God’s sake, Tony, I check myself every other day, sometimes every day. More than anyone else, I know which of my parameters are in acceptable ranges, and which aren’t. I don’t need her asinine advice.”

Tony whistled low. “Touchy, touchy.”

“I’m not–!” Bruce began. He made a face and scrunched deeper in his chair. “Fine, all right, I’ll concede a little ‘touchiness’,” he said, raising his chin again. “But what is she going to say, ‘lose some weight, Bruce?’ ‘Exercise and eat better, Bruce?’ Come the fuck on.” 

“You don’t know that,” Tony murmured, and Bruce made a noise as if he didn’t agree. So Tony tried a different tactic. “So what if she found something else? Something you missed?”

Bruce tried turning away, but Tony firmly grabbed his arm, even as Bruce glared at him. “Bruce, just _listen_ okay? You don’t have a medical license. What you know is piecemeal, based on your limited knowledge which, frankly, isn’t enough to keep you going.”

“Tony--" 

Bruce tried breaking free, but Tony’s grip tightened. “No, stop it. Let me _finish_. It’s not just about you anymore, Bruce. Steve and I are just as invested in you as you are, and we care about your health. So don’t be an asshole about this. Let us in. Besides, Steve and I already know it’s only a small part of why you keep stalling.”

Tony swore he saw a green flash in Bruce’s eyes, but after a long standoff (which was probably a few seconds but felt like a minute), Bruce blinked and backed down. 

He nervously licked his lips. “It…it’s not easy.”

“I know.”

“It’s medical facilities. Needles. Lying on my back, hearing sounds and smelling smells.” He swallowed thickly, and his voice began to shake as he ran a hand through his scalp. “It’s everything. It’s the memory. It’s… _him_. It’s…it’s–”

Tony softly pulled Bruce close, before the man hyperventilated or worse, became his alter-ego. “ _Shh._ I know, babe. That’s why Steve and I are going with you. You won’t be alone, I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

Bruce childishly tucked his head beneath Tony’s chin for comfort. “I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s why we’ll be there. To keep you grounded.” Bruce had gotten so big that Tony’s arms could no longer comfortably encircle him, but at least he could run his hands gently up and down Bruce’s back. “So call Dr. Cho. Tell her you’ve changed your mind, and that Steve and I are comin’ with you.”

“What if Steve c–”

“Nope,” Tony said, cutting him off. “He will, and I will. Okay?”

Bruce sighed heavily and nodded, then pulled away from Tony. “Okay. But don’t blame me if go green.” And he was only partly kidding.

Tony smirked. “Big Green still loves and trusts us. If it happens, we’ll deal with it then.”

And it was a testament to how far he’d come, that Bruce trusted Tony’s response, and trusted that he could do precisely that. Or it could’ve been wishful thinking. To be honest, he only reason why he agreed was because he was tired of running in this area of his life, and he needed all the answers he could get.

**

Despite her near-empty facility and her calming demeanor, Bruce’s old tics returned at Helen Cho’s New York branch office. She’d dismissed everyone in the building but the four of them, and then left Bruce, Steve and Tony alone in one of the larger rooms. She told Bruce to strip to his underthings and wear a gown before leaving the room herself, but Bruce paced and wrung his hands instead, even before he’d removed his shirt.

“Muffin,” Steve soothed quietly. “Talk to us.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He stood in front of Bruce to halt his paces, and slowly undid the scientist's shirt buttons. Of course, Tony grin was slightly lewd as he undid each button. “You know,” he murmured, “there’s all kinds of fun stuff we could do after your appointment.”

Bruce groaned. He swatted Tony’s hands away and undid the rest of his shirt buttons. “That is not helping. At all,” he grumbled, kicking off his shoes. But he missed Tony and Steve’s brief smile exchange because yes, it _did_ help; Tony's innuendos kept his mind away from the flashbacks. “Doctor’s offices are not sexy.”

Tony almost opened his mouth, but Steve interrupted before he could. “I agree with you, Bruce. I’d much rather discuss our Thanksgiving plans.”

Tony made a noise. “Yeah, I guess we should talk about it. Out, or in, Bruce?”

Bruce shrugged and slowly undid his belt. “Good question,” he grunted. “Will the team be in town?”

“I don’t know.” Steve took Bruce’s shirt and folded it onto a chair. “I think Clint and Natasha are spending time with Sam’s family, or Sam is joining them. Either way I think everyone opted to be out of town, so it may just be us.”

“I could do a little something. For just us.” He took off his pants and Steve gently laid them on the chair’s back. “You have any preferences?”

“I can help with the sides.” Steve grabbed the hospital gown and slid it over Bruce’s arms. The gown was too small to fasten (”one-size-fits-all” no longer applied in Bruce's case), but it wasn’t like Bruce would have it on for long, anyway. “I have this cobbler recipe I wanted to try.”

Bruce’s right eyebrow rose, and they all heard his stomach rumble in the near empty office. “Peach, or apple?”

“Oh, apple. Definitely. It’s not peach season.”

Bruce grinned and was about to say something else, when they heard a series of quick raps, and the words, “are you decent?” before the door slowly opened.

“He’s decent, we’re not,” Tony quipped, and Steve rolled his eyes. Steve also squeezed Bruce’s hand, because he’d immediately noticed how quickly Bruce tensed.

Dr. Helen Cho ignored Tony, and softly squeezed Bruce’s bicep. “It’s been a bit since we’ve seen one another, Doctor Banner.” She didn’t berate him for not staying in contact, although he’d had a standing appointment with her for almost a year. “How are you feeling?”

“As well as can be expected,” he said evenly. Tony caught Steve’s eye. They were both intimately familiar with Bruce’s edgy tone, but Dr. Cho wasn’t. 

“That’s good,” she said pleasantly. Then she paused, as if thinking through something. “Bruce, I promise not to do anything you don’t want to do, and I’ll verbally say whatever I’m about to do before I do it. If there’s anything you’re not comfortable with tell me, and I’ll stop immediately.We can do as little or as much as you want. You’re in control, okay?”

His eyes had been downcast but when he glanced up there was a definitely green tinge to them. But Helen didn’t flinch.

One point in her favor.

“Okay,” Bruce murmured.

"I promise. I won't bite."

His glowing eyes had been a rude scare tactic and he damn well knew it, but Helen had seen a lot of shit from all of the Avengers; not reacting to Bruce's crap spoke volumes. It might've taken a few tense seconds, but his eyes finally powered down.

"Sorry."

“No worries. Let’s start with the scale, if that’s okay?”

Bruce grunted as she lead him to it; all she did was scribble a few numbers down. But when it beeped Steve glanced over, and Tony saw a tiny grin tweaking the edges of Steve's not-so-innocent expression. 

“Proud of your work, eh?” Tony muttered, unable to resist the jab. 

Steve just grinned wider, and Tony rolled his eyes at him.

**

Two hours later Dr. Cho had her data, but it had taken the combined efforts of all of them. When Bruce tensed at her needle and his skin thickened in response, Steve began talking to him about all the side dishes he was going to stuff him full of, for Thanksgiving. It brought a fast, embarrassed heat to Bruce’s cheeks, but the distraction worked. 

So did talking through the tests with him. When everything was over and he put on his clothes, he was able to ask pointed questions, due to the constant communication. And actually, one of the results she showed him _did_ surprise him: He actually needed _more_ protein in his diet. His vegetable and fruit consumption ratios were perfect, but a man of his weight really needed additional protein sources - especially when he housed a super giant that needed vast amounts of muscle tissue, at any given moment.

“I know you’re used to it, Bruce,” she told him, and he was finally hinging on her every word, without any hint of his previous nervous tension. “But it will only make you more tired if you don’t eat more specific proteins. It’s a fallacy in the medical community, that people of a larger size should eat less. That’s not necessarily nutritionally sound. You need to eat what you should to take care of all your bodily functions - and you especially, due to your alter. Haven’t you felt a little tired as of late?”

Bruce’s eyebrows rose. “A little, maybe.”

Steve frowned. “What? You never told us–”

Bruce shrugged absently. “It didn’t seem like a huge deal. I’d just been working longer hours in the lab, and I thought that was it.”

“Well it wasn’t.” Helen pointed to a certain level, and Bruce frowned.

“I’m...I'm _anemic_?”

“Somewhat. Not critically so, but it makes sense, considering your protein levels. More red meat and darker green vegetables, Bruce. You need it.”

“Huh,” Tony snorted. “Who’d've thought it.”

Bruce shook his head. “Well, I figured it was normal. I kept seeing the same levels, and thought…I thought I was fine.”

“You are. But with the extra weight you’re carrying, you need more balance.”

Steve made a small face. “Does he...um. Physically, is he too…? I mean is his weight–”

Helen shrugged and nodded to Bruce. “You’re perfectly healthy,” she told him. “I’d suggest more sunshine for Vitamin D, since those levels are a little low too. But otherwise, your weight isn’t a factor in anything. Gain, lose…it’s up to you. Just keep seeing me to stay balanced.”

“Hm.” Bruce smiled at her. “This was…more informative than I expected.”

She returned his smile. “Some of us are the good guys. So do what I said, and see me in six months. Or I'll kick your green butt.”

Bruce chuckled; they’d finally gotten to the teasing stage, and it felt…okay. He figured he could handle her tests next time, whether or not Tony or Steve joined him.

They left Helen's office, and he still remained a bit pensive on the drive back home. That was, until Steve nudged his shoulder. 

“Three fifty-two, Muffin,” he rumbled in Bruce’s ear, and Bruce’s cheeks flared as red as a tomato. 

“Um…aheh.” Bruce played with his fingers, even as Tony nudged him with his knee. “That was a bit higher than I expected.”

Tony nudged him again. “You okay with it, though?”

He sighed, and briefly glanced at his partners. “Yeah…yeah. I am. I feel fine.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Right, Steve?”

“Right.” Steve ran his fingers around the nape of Bruce’s neck. “But it’s up to you, y’know. The holidays are coming up - and Thanksgiving.”

A tiny smirk pinked the edges of Bruce’s lips. “Well…Dr. Cho _did_ say I needed more protein and iron, so…”

Steve and Tony laughed. “Whatever you wanna do, Pooh Bear,” Tony said.

Bruce managed to put on another seven pounds through the holidays, but it was okay. He felt better than ever, and that’s all that mattered.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that it put his partners in an even friskier mood.


	40. The One Where Bruce Gets Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Has Chubby Bruce ever got really hurt? How did the boys react?_
> 
> **Yes - and of course they were worried! For multiple reasons.**

“That was a dick move, Banner.”

Bruce couldn’t shrug, but he crinkled his eyes at one of his two boyfriends. Tony murmured the sentence while brushing his curls from his eyes, but Bruce could tell straight away he was only half-joking.

He ignored Tony’s soft jab and got to the heart of the question. “Everyone ok?”

“Everyone but you.”

Sighing, Tony grabbed a chair to scoot closer to Bruce’s bedside, while simultaneously taking offense to all the tubes and wires connecting to Bruce’s bed and various limbs. Bruce snorted softly; the drugs must’ve been good because he knew he should’ve been freaking out, but he wasn’t even flinching. Oh, well. He yawned. Maybe he couldn’t.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Bruce hummed, feeling his eyelids tug at him. “Saved the day.”

He felt the drag of sleep even as the words _but we almost lost you_ followed him into unconsciousness.

The second time he woke, he felt entirely too much. Everything below his neck ached like he’d shifted wrong in his sleep, with every damn muscle screaming at him. He grumbled a little before opening his eyes, and immediately felt a straw teasing his lips.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Bruce almost laughed, but the very hint of laughter hurt. He slowly opened his eyes. “Doubt it,” he muttered, but Steve’s hand was behind his head before he had the chance to struggle forward.

“Don’t move too much. You’re still healing.”

“You think?” He drank after Tony glared sourly at him.

Steve toggled a few of the hospital bed buttons so he could sit up a little, but it was still uncomfortable. True, he healed faster than the average person, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. And he figured with the damage he took, he was looking at another two weeks in the hospital - at least.

“How long was I out?”

He didn’t miss Steve and Tony’s brief exchange. “Three weeks,” Tony finally said, and Bruce’s gasp stuck in his throat.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.”

He looked at the two of them closely now, seeing the new shock of gray near Tony’s temple and the crows feet around Steve’s eyes (despite not smiling).

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

Yep. It was bad, if Steve let an f-bomb slip.

“But–”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. Tony was in the suit, and I could’ve helped protect you. Either one of us could’ve protected you, but you just had to play the hero, by tripping the mag locks on the doors, and locking us out. The building fell on you, Bruce. The whole _fucking_ –”

Tony’s hand on Steve’s shoulder stopped the rant. “Shh, Steve.” Steve swallowed and looked down, but Tony didn’t let up either. “He’s got a point, Banner. I know you thought you didn’t have a choice, but we could’ve figured something out.”

“Could we have, though?” Bruce glanced at the two of them. “We had minutes before the explosions would’ve taken out the entire team, and Tony and I were the only ones with enough coding experience to stop the computer countdown.” His eyes flickered to Tony. “And you had a concussion.”

“Regardless, the bombs still went off.”

“The secondary ones, sure, the smaller ones - the ones we didn’t know about. But the big one didn’t decimate the city, because I bought us time. Time enough for everyone to get to the surface.” He sighed softly and attempted to appeal to their good judgment. “We all knew it was a trap once we burrowed beneath those surface tunnels, but instead of all of us getting buried, well. I…made the call.” Bruce was sure Tony wouldn’t have survived even with the suit, so he wasn’t ashamed of the split decision he made - he would’ve always done the same thing, even if it meant deceiving his partners. Again.

“Someone needed to decrypt the data,” he said with more conviction. “Someone strong enough to survive, if anything happened.”

The hospital room suddenly became too quiet, and Bruce found himself becoming annoyed with the systematic “beeps” coming from his monitors. Neither of his lovers spoke for an uncomfortably long time. He probably would’ve fidgeted, if he didn’t think it would’ve hurt.

Tony shifted and opened his mouth to say something, but Steve squeezed his hand. “No,” Steve said quietly. Bruce thought Steve was telling Tony not to speak, but then Steve turned his brilliant, blue, blazing eyes towards him.

“No. You _don’t_ get to make that call. Ever. And not just because I’m your field commander.” Steve took his hand, caressed it. “Tony told me this, once,” he began, briefly glancing at Tony. The other man merely nodded. “He scolded me for playing the martyr, so I’m doing it right back. You’re in a relationship with us, Porkpie. You don’t get to make decisions that saves one or two, because we... _I_ can’t–”

Steve’s voice broke and Tony took over for him. “In other words, what he’s saying is you don’t get to pull stunts like that to ‘save’ us. Not anymore. We save each other together, or we go down swinging together. Got it?”

Bruce swallowed and slowly nodded. It was the nature of their jobs, he supposed, but it felt so strange that anyone would volunteer to die with him, when they had a perfectly good chance of living out the rest of their days.

From the expressions on their faces, Bruce could tell Steve and Tony sensed his hesitation. “Two days,” Steve whispered. “It took _two days_ to painstakingly dig you out of there. If we’d gone any faster, the rock would’ve shifted and crushed you.”

“We didn’t know what to expect,” Tony said. He shrugged a little and shifted on the bed, but Bruce noticed his hands were shaking. “Hulk didn’t dig his way up, or come flying out – my guess is, you were knocked out before you could shift, because you waited until the last second. ‘Puny Banner’ got stubborn, and we ended up on the losing end.

“When we finally found you,” Steve said, voice trembling, “you were comatose. Broken. Bloody.”

“And then we camped out at the hospital, waiting 'til your fat ass decided we were worth returning for.”

Bruce did grimace, then. But it had nothing to do with his physical pain. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I just thought–”

“Shh.” Steve ran his fingers through Bruce’s curls. “You _didn’t_ think - hence the problem. You’ve got others who care about you, you know, so you don’t get to make the squeeze play alone. Not without us.”

“Not ever,” Tony said with a shuddering sigh. “Well, it’s only ‘cuz of all your winter bear fat that things weren’t hella worse. Being as big as you are saved a body part or two.”

“I’m sure the serum helped.”

“Maybe,” Tony answered, shrugging. “Guarantee you though, it's not happening again. Not on our watch”

Bruce sighed again, finally wanting to say the words he should’ve said, before the building fell on him. “Love you guys.”

“Love you too, Porkie,” Steve said. And Tony gently kissed Bruce’s lips, in response.

From then on, the three of them had an arrangement, and Tony made sure of it. Whenever they were in danger and separated, or about to be separated, one of them would signal the other two, so they’d always be together. They all agreed that living in a world without the other two, would be no life at all.


	41. The One Where Bruce and Tony Swap Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: What would happen if Tony and Bruce swapped bodies due to magic????_
> 
> **I think they’d both…treat the incident like scientists. Maybe.**
> 
> (Guest starring: Stephen Strange!).

***

It was supposed to revise Tony’s AI data transference programs.

Something high end, something Bruce would agree to. Something that could have fantastic implications for neurological disorders and, well, side bonus the ability to “trade thoughts” (or so Tony said; Bruce was less sure about that part).

But they’d just begun with preliminary tests and hadn’t expected any real world applications…until some “demon” from Doctor Strange’s house of horrors decided to terrorize midtown. And wasn’t that just ducky, to go chasing a live, six-foot World of Warcraft beast that made no sense on a good day, but definitely not on Friday at 4:30 pm.

“This is your damn dirty imp, Strange,” Tony growled through the coms. “Why aren’t you here to catch it? Why’s it now suddenly our job?”

 **“Because it’s the only one left on earth,”** Tony heard, **“and I’m trying to keep the rift shut so the others don’t spill out.”** He really didn’t like Strange’s eerie echo in his helmet; the mystic was using some of his mumbo-jumbo to communicate because he was off-world, or something.

**“Yes, that, and I’m also on the astral plane.”**

“Oh, yeah. Right. Of course you are.” Tony hoped Strange could see his eyes rolling through his armor. “And stop listening to my thoughts, will ya? That’s just…creepy. Anyway. I’ve got eyes on your pet. It’s headed for Central Park.”

**“Did you find the thumb drive at my apartment?”**

“Bruce did. He radioed me five minutes ago, that he’d cobbled together the program for the stasis field per your instructions, and he’s waiting for me to bring back your pet.” Tony watched with narrowed eyes as the creature caused two car collisions and a businessman stampede, before it winked out of existence, and suddenly appeared a few klicks south from its previous location.

Shit…He needed to wrap this up yesterday. 

“Manhattan has leash laws for a _reason_ , Strange.”

**“I apologize, they all came through the rift rather unexpectedly, and with their abilities–”**

“Nah, nah, nope. Don’t wanna hear it,” Tony said, zooming past a surprised lady walking a cat. “I’ve had enough weird magic in my life, and I don’t want any more. Just tell me how to catch the fucking thing and spare the commentary.”

Tony swore he heard the mystic snort. **“Very well. Did you create the tractor beam?”**

“If you’re asking if I created a gravitational pull by redesigning my tech, then yes. But tractor beam? Bitch, please. That is _so_ 60′s Star Trek.”

 **“Fine,”** Strange said, ignoring Tony’s quip. **“Then as soon as you’re over the demon, use your…beam ‘thing’--”** Tony sighed **“–and keep it from touching any space. It can teleport, but only if it’s touching something solid first.”**

“Which explains why no one’s been able to catch it.”

**“Exactly. So you have to be careful. Don’t let it hear you coming and do _not_ , under any circumstances, let it touch you.”**

“I’m not stupid, Strange. Well. Not as stupid as some self-proclaimed Harry Potter letting his pet terrorize Manhattan.”

**“Just get the creature, Stark.”**

Tony laughed a little in his head. Served Strange right, for the hell he’d put them through.

***

The hard part, funny enough, wasn’t even catching it. Once it saw Central Park it froze in its tracks, and Tony was able to fly over it, and contain it in his grav-field. It struggled a little and tried scraping a clawed toe across the asphalt, but Tony flew a little higher so it couldn’t get near the ground. “Stay still, ya little rodent,” he muttered to it.

But once he got to the helipad of the tower, he had to change directions in a rather awkward way in order to keep it from touching the ground. “Bruce,” he said, switching the audio to the lab’s feed. “How close is Strange’s stasis field to the window?”

Pause. _“Tony…no.”_

“Got to, Brucie Bear. This thing is spitting some kind of curse at me and you know what you’re like at four AM when we have an Avenger’s emergency? This thing is worse than you. So, yeah. Window, if you please.”

And by some kind of curse, he meant that this ugly mofo had some kind of acid spit that was reacting with his armor and causing his suit to emit weird fumes, enough to make him dizzy even with the filters going at high speed. Which was probably reason number one why Strange told him not to touch it. “You got it?”

Tony heard a quiet grunt, and the left rear emergency lab bay window opened at a crawling speed. _“Have you ever attempted flying through this? It’s not exactly…large.”_

“Bruce, hon’, when fully opened it’s large enough to fit two of you, side by side. I’d call that pretty large.”

 _“Very funny,”_ Bruce muttered. But Tony knew he wasn't mad. _“Go ahead. Ease yourself, and...Mutanus the Devourer through. But be_ careful, _dammit.”_

Tony was close enough to see Bruce’s worried face, and he nodded at him. “Like threading a needle. But for your safety, step a little further back. I’m gonna have to come in pretty hot and at a weird angle, to keep this thing from touching anything.”

 _“What–?_ Why?”

But Tony had already begun calculating his sideways angle, and was coming in even before Bruce finished his thought. “Don't let it hit the floor, okay? I’m gonna try ‘throwing’ it into the field. So get ready to catch.”

_“What?!”_

Bruce said he was terrible at improvisation, but he really wasn’t. Not when it counted. So when Tony hoisted up his hands and used not-so-gentle force to thrust the demon from his gravity well (where it went flying, just like the end of a triple-play to home base), Bruce only swore twice. And seconds before the thing bounced off the floor, Bruce had adjusted the electromagnetic cage for Tony’s speed and trajectory, and had their little monster safe and secure in a cube of solitude.

“See? No problem.” Tony lifted his faceplate just as Bruce whirled on him angrily.

“Tony–! What if I’d missed? I almost didn’t compensate in time!”

“But you did, hon’. That’s the important part.”

Bruce snorted angrily as Tony went in for a kiss. As their lips connected, he ignored the nagging feeling in the back of his head. _I’m getting as paranoid as Bruce,_ he thought fuzzily, but he didn’t mind; Bruce’s kiss was knocking him senseless, like a bottle of cheap rotgut.

“Tony,” Bruce mumbled dreamily. “Wait…some-something’s–”

“Mm. Love you too, Brucie Bear. Need to get Steve down here, and start on the main course.”

“No, ah. I mean.” He shook his head slowly, and Tony felt his own head spinning. Maybe spinning too much.

Wait. Oh, shit, the little bastard’s _fumes_ -–

“Sirs, I’m detecting an unknown contaminate–”

Tony had just enough energy, even as Bruce flopped heavily across him and knocked both of them unceremoniously to the floor. “Jarvis,” he slurred. “Protocol 1-A. Now--!”

“Already in progress, Sirs…”

He fought against the darkness as hard as he could, but within seconds his vision grayed out.

***

_“Tony! Bruce–!”_

Bruce groaned low in his throat. Someone was calling his name, his and Tony’s, but they sounded so far away…and his head hurt. Like he’d been–

Shit.

“Did…I hurt anyone?”

“Sir?”

Holy hell, his voice sounded…weird. But also familiar. Somehow. He was still face down on the floor of his and Tony’s lab (he could tell that much; one of Tony’s bots had begun circling near him, as if in distress). But at least the lab floor, what he could see of it, seemed free of debris. A good sign; maybe Hulk made nice, for once.

Yeah. Right.

Blinking - because everything hurt, and he wasn’t sure if moving would be a great idea, he said the one thing he hoped made sense.

“Jarvis, status?”

“Unsure,” the AI said. And that was as strange a thing as he’d ever heard. Jarvis was never unsure or uncertain of his data. “The contaminates that previously saturated the lab have dissipated, but I’m detecting high levels of it in your bloodstream, and in Doctor Banner’s.”

“You mean me and Tony’s.”

The AI paused for too long. “Doctor…Banner?”

“Yes, Jarvis,” Bruce said. He frowned; he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but his eyesight seemed okay. Jarvis, however, was apparently malfunctioning.

_“Tony!”_

Bruce lifted his head, finally hearing Steve, and saw his panic-stricken face through the glass. He made a slow motion to sit up, finding it both easy and hard at the same time. He felt off, but maybe it was whatever they were hit with. It definitely made his voice sound funny. He made a small gesture to Steve to mollify him, but he wasn’t about to expose the man to whatever he and Tony got hit with.

He’d deal with Steve in a few minutes, after his head quit spinning.

“Doctor Banner,” Jarvis began slowly. “There’s been an accident in the lab. Apparently Mr. Stark returned with a contaminate, at the same moment you restrained Dr. Strange’s creature. Both you and he were exposed to it.”

“Yeah,” Bruce thought muzzily. Where was Tony, anyway? It still hurt too much to move a lot…”some kinda knock-out accelerant? Is the creature secure?”

“The results of the gas seem to have mollified the creature, somewhat. It appears to be asleep. However, Dr. Banner, an alarming complication has also occurred.”

“Hm?”

Still woozy, Bruce glanced around, and saw an arm from a lab coat peeking around the edge of an upended table, and his glasses (unbroken, fortunately) somewhere near the coat. Had Tony put on a lab coat? Odd. He didn’t normally…

“Tony–?”

He scooted unsteadily towards the glasses and picked them up, but he still felt out of sorts. “Tony, are you–”

Bruce saw the figure on the floor. Then he did a comical double take at himself before scrambling back with a half-yelp, half-gasp. And when he caught his reflection in a stainless steel cabinet, an honest-to-god, seven-year-old girly scream leaped from his throat.

***

Tony was fairly sure he’d shoved Bruce away in time to secure Strange’s creature of the night, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on all four cylinders. Still, despite what he knew his brain was telling him, he wasn’t in any huge rush to wake up. His body felt weighted, and exhaustion pulled every part of him into oblivion.

_“Tony! Bruce–!”_

That sounded like Steve, but Tony really couldn’t be bothered. Not yet. The heaviness in his limbs dragged him further down, and he felt himself sinking deep, into…something else. He’d rest for a little longer. Just a few more minutes. Just until the world stopped hurting and spinning. He probably should’ve been more alarmed, but he didn’t completely come to until he heard a loud gasp, followed by a creepy screech. Which…sorta sounded like what he sounded like, when he found that spider in the bathroom. But he wasn’t gonna think about that.

“Jesus,” he mumbled. He attempted to pull himself up, but his torso felt like he was wrestling hundred-pound sacks of flour. And he must’ve hit his head, because his vision was too blurry. He felt and sounded like he was underwater.

**“Stark… _Stark_!”**

Strange. That was Doctor Strange, in his head.

“Oh my God–Tony!”

And…who–? Was Strange throwing his voice around the room? Holy fuck, it was too goddamn early for this otherworldly shit.

“Strange–?”

No. No, he didn’t sound like him at all. He sounded like–

“Tony–?!”

He slowly shook his head back and forth as a hand attempted to grab his arm. God, why did he feel like lead? After effect from the fumes, maybe? “Yeah, m’okay, I’m–”

He looked up. He couldn’t see. Someone fumbled some…eyeglasses on his face? He blinked, suddenly seeing--

“Gaah! _Fuck_!”

“I know, I know! What the hell happened?”

He looked down at himself, at his body. Then he realized why he felt like he was carrying around huge sacks of flour. Because he was.

He was in _Bruce’s_ body.

"B…Bruce–?” Expression hardening, he thought at lightning speeds, trying to piece together any answers.

**“Stark…there?”**

“Strange–? Just…hold on. Hold on a second–”

“You’re damn right it’s strange!”

“No, no. I mean–” He sighed heavily and looked up, watching as Bruce, in _his_ body, nervously wrung his hands and chewed his bottom lip. It was weird, seeing himself in someone else’s body. But he couldn’t think about that right now. Couldn’t think of anything but just what needed to be done, in whatever way they could do it.

“Bruce, hon’,” he said, recoiling at the deep timbre of Bruce’s voice, with his words. “Calm down, okay? Something…something happened. I think it’s because of that thing I brought back. It was givin’ off some toxic gunk, and–”

_“Goddamn it, open this fucking door!”_

“Steve,” they said, locking eyes on each other.

“Okay,” Tony sighed. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it wasn’t easy. Not at all. It was all too much, and it hurt. “Jarvis, are we clean from any other fumes?”

“There are no other contaminates detected, and the creature appears to be hibernating now…sirs,” the AI said slowly. Tony realized then that this was probably tough for the AI to understand, too.

“Good. Bruce, use the manual override to open the lab door, but don’t say anything to Steve yet. Just open the door, and let him come over to where I am.”

He grunted loudly and tentatively sat up. “Jesus Christ, Bruce. I honestly don’t think I can stand. You really are a huge dude, babe. Not that I care, but moving mi-i-ght be an issue right now.”

Bruce smiled nervously and half-shrugged. Seeing Bruce's lack of confidence in his new body was too freaky. “Um, I’m sorry–”

Tony shook his– _Bruce’s_ –head. “No. Don’t say that. And don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. Just get Steve. I think I’m still connected with Strange, so maybe we’ll get more answers from him.”

***

It took an hour to get things sorted, and Steve still kept giving them side glances as if he didn’t completely believe they’d swapped bodies. Not that Bruce truly believed it himself, but it was pretty damn obvious. He felt too manic and too wired to be in anything _but_ Tony’s body.

He made a face. Tony seriously needed to cut back on his coffee intake if he felt this jittery, all the time.

“So…this is Doctor Strange’s mess?” Steve began slowly.

“Mostly,” Tony said. Bruce shivered watching Tony’s characteristic glare, beneath his own wireframes.

“What else did he say?”

“Not a lot,” Tony sighed. “He started fadin’ on me, so we may’ve lost our connection for now.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Great.”

“It is what it is, Steve," Tony muttered. "Strange is tuned to my actual thoughts, but he’s having problems tuning in. Probably ‘cause he’s in his damn ‘mystic realm,’” Tony air-quoted the words after catching Bruce and Steve’s skepticism, and waved off their expressions. “I don’t get it either. On the other hand I _did_ get this much from him: This imp-thing was attempting to swap bodies, using its toxic spit as a catalyst. And it almost worked, because its stupid, timey-wimey saliva swaps souls, or some shit. But with Bruce in the mix, the fumes ended up swapping Bruce and me instead, and the creature stayed in its own body. Its trick backfired.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, that’s just what Strange told me! It’s fucking nuts, I get it. But it happened, so fuck me if I know what to do.”

“Tony,” Bruce said softly, calming him down.

Steve first stared at Tony in Bruce’s body, then Bruce in Tony’s, and finally pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a headache.”

“Join the club,” Tony growled. He tried folding his arms, but was having problems doing it across Bruce’s massive chest.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand across his chin, and made a face at his hands when he touched Tony’s beard. “Did Strange give any indication on how to reverse the process?”

“He kept disappearing, but I think he has an idea. A crazy, mystical one of course. But I think he has to be here in the flesh to get it to work, and he’s not sure how long he’ll be. Time flows differently, he said. What might be a minute for us could be a week for him, and vice-versa. So he might be here in an hour, or–”

“Or in weeks,” Bruce said miserably.

“You got it. Or longer.”

“I can’t wait weeks!”

“ _You_? Hell, Bruce. I think I’d end up starving you to death.” And they all suddenly heard Bruce’s stomach rumble. Loudly. “See?”

Bruce sighed heavily. “Well. If only that were the least of our problems.”

Tony and Steve looked up warily, but Tony got it first. He gulped, and Bruce found it funny, seeing his own Adam’s apple bob comically. “Ohhhh, _fuck_ me--”

“Yeah. It’s probably the reason you lost contact with Strange, too.”

“What?” Steve said, but then it hit him, and he tightly shut his eyes. “You mean the Hulk.”

Bruce nodded and gestured to Tony. “The body swap doesn’t change the fact that Hulk’s presence is still in _my_ body. But if Tony loses control it won’t be my consciousness keeping Hulk at bay, he’ll be _Tony’s_ alter-ego.” Bruce nibbled his lip. “I…I don’t know what’ll go down if that happens, but we have to stop that from occurring, whatever it takes. I think we’ve been lucky that the body swap weakened us, a little. But we'll have to plan for the worst case scenario once our bodies recharge. So Tony, don't do anything foolish. You’ll have to remain calm, at all times.”

“I know, Brucie,” Tony sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Bruce's curls. “I _know_. But I don’t have a lid on him, not like you.”

Bruce smiled sadly. “No one does. Until we figure something out or until Strange returns, it’s probably best if you stay in, or near, the Hulk containment pod.”

“Agreed,” Tony said, but he definitely wasn’t happy about it.

“Well,” Steve said, with a sigh. “I’ll stay down there with you. To keep you company.”

“And me too,” Bruce said. “Between the three of us, we can figure something out that works, until Strange returns.”

***

A few hours later Tony wasn’t any happier about staying confined than before, but at least Bruce’s deep breathing exercises weren’t causing him to freak out any worse. Whether or not that was a good thing, he wasn’t exactly sure.

“That’s it,” Bruce murmured. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Okay, but _no._ “God. Is that what I sound like? I swear, it’s no wonder I pissed off so many people. That’s the most grating noise–”

“Shh. Tony, take this seriously–”

“C’mon, Bruce. You-- _I_ look silly. I _can’t_ take myself seriously.”

Bruce opened an eye and glared at him. “Do you want the Hulk to tear up your basement?”

“No, of course not. But…Bruce. _Dude._ When was the last time you ever saw me meditate?”

Bruce made a face. “About as often as I’ve said the word, ‘dude.’ Look, Tony, it’s just as weird for me. I’m ready to climb the walls in your hyperactive body - why didn’t you tell us you felt like this?”

“Brucie,” Tony sighed. “I’m used to it. Probably the way you’re used to being hungry like, 24/7, and not snapping at everyone every five minutes for a burger, or some shit. Speaking of,” he said, glaring through the Hulk-proofed plexiglas, “where the hell is Steve with our lunch?”

“He’s coming. Be patient.” Bruce made a face. "Well, I guess it's safe enough to say that anger and frustration doesn't set you off, unlike me. Otherwise this room would've been demolished by now."

Tony jammed his hands in Bruce’s lab coat pockets. “Yeah, well, Steve still needs to pick up the pace. Especially if hunger is the trig..." Frowning, his fingers rummaged around the pockets, and he pulled something out. “Hel- _lo_ ,” he purred, discovering a jumbo-sized candy bar. “What’s this?”

“Oh, right.” Tony watched as his cheeks reddened, from Bruce’s blushing.”I ah. I keep those in my lab coats sometimes.”

Tony had already torn off half the wrapper and was shoving the candy in his mouth, even before Bruce quit talking. “Ohh. _Ohhhh..._ ”

Swallowing, Bruce watched in fascination as he watched his own body shiver. “Oh my God, Bruce,” Tony said, mouth still full. “Fuckin’ A. Why didn’t you say anything? Holy _shit-–_ ”

Bruce frowned, and swiped a glob of chocolate that had dripped down Tony’s - _his_ \- chunky chin. “About what?”

“Your _taste buds_.” Tony moaned, and Bruce felt his jaw go slack. Was that…was _that_ what he looked like? No wonder Steve and Tony got off on his expression, for lack of another term. His body adjusted to the sight, and his hormones - Tony’s borrowed hormones - were pumping a lot of blood, down south.

“I could have sex right now. Does everything taste like this, Bruce?”

He shrugged shyly. “Not sure. Maybe…? Let’s just say I’m used to it.”

Tony delicately licked his fingers. “Or maybe I’m hungry. Either way,” he sighed softly. “I’m glad I got to experience it. And I sure as hell am excited to try more.”

Bruce felt his apprehension rise. “Tony…”

“What? I’m not going to go crazy. But, seriously. Dude. You have amazing taste buds. It’s like everything’s ramped up, and wrapped in candy and bacon. It’s worse than crack. Not that I’ve had crack, but still–”

Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, okay.” Bruce sighed softly, and met Tony’s eyes. “I never said anything. But maybe I should’ve.” He looked Tony slowly up and down. “But I get what you guys see now. It’s…”

“Babe, don’t say it--”

“--fascinating.”

“He said it.” Tony shook his head fondly, “Can't you quote someone, _anyone_ , other than Original Series Spock?”

Bruce chuckled at their old argument, but didn’t belabor the point. Instead he reached over to squeeze Tony's... _his_ stomach. The sensation was amazing with Tony’s fingers; everything was all soft and doughy, with so much _give_. Bruce kept prodding but smiled when Tony moaned a little. “I want this back, y’know,” he sighed. “Watching you enjoy so much of life makes me want my body back. Makes me want to do… _things_ to you and Steve.”

“Mm,” Tony growled deeply, sending another shock to Bruce’s (Tony’s) groin. “You little minx--”

“Blame your hormone levels,” Bruce interrupted. “You mentioned my taste buds, but your sexual feelings are…”

“Are...yeah…?”

“Yeah.”

“Um.” Tony saw it, then. The same gleam in his eye that his past - and present - lovers have either run from, or embraced. “You know,” Bruce said. “We could…ah. Probably make the most of this, until Strange returns? I mean, it’s weird, but–”

Tony caught on immediately. “We need to explore it. You know, see it from the opposite perspective. For scientific research.”

“It’ll probably weird out Steve, though.”

“So? He's watched us before.”

Bruce licked his lips, which looked absolutely decadent across Tony’s goatee. “Okay, maybe...maybe just this once. But then we’ve gotta get back to researching a way to swap back. Like, soon.”

Tony grinned like a Cheshire cat across Bruce’s borrowed face. “One turn. Then we go back to figuring shit out.”

“Agreed.”

They almost got started right then and there, but Steve conveniently entered seconds later, carrying lunch.

“I can’t believe it,” he whined, holding out the food bags. Tony grabbed them from him immediately and rooted around one of them, before plucking out a huge, half-pound cheeseburger. “You two were going to go at it. _Without_ me.”

Bruce looked down guiltily while Tony’s decadent murmurs over his burger kept distracting him. “I-It wasn’t on purpose, Steve. We just got…lost in the moment.”

“Sorta like getting lost in this burger,” Tony said, mouth full. He took a few massive bites and swallowed quickly, while digging in the greasy food bag for his second round. “I think I’m having sex with your taste buds, Bruce. Hm. Cap, you get any other condiments?”

Bruce smirked at Tony. “Careful. I don’t eat burgers every day. It may seem like I can put it all away fast - and…well. I guess I can. But the stomachaches from eating too quickly are also very real.”

“ _C’mon_ guys–”

Tony piped up while grabbing dipping sauce to go with some french fries. “Doubt we would’ve started to be honest with ya, Steve, ‘cause I’m too hungry. Bruce, man. You’ve gotta tell us when you’re starving. We can always hold off from sex. You should eat first, y’know?”

“Mm,” Bruce murmured. But he didn’t say much more. Instead he cautiously took Steve’s hand. “We also weren’t sure if this would be uncomfortable for you. Because we’re not exactly us.”

“Yeah…I know.” But Steve’s eyes were hooded as he witnessed Tony choking down his food like a ravenous dog. And Bruce had to tug Steve’s hand, just to get his attention.

“One more thing, Steve, and I’ve gotta ask--” Bruce sighed. He still wasn't listening. “ _Steve._ Hey, _listen_. This is important to me, okay?”

“Huh–?” Steve snapped back, and a small blush began disappearing from his cheeks. “Sorry, T–I mean Bruce. Dammit, sorry. This is tough.”

“I know it is,” Bruce said gruffly. Steve gave him his full attention now, and Bruce thought Steve was doing fairly well, considering Tony was finishing up his second burger in record time. “I’m…a little worried by your expression, though, and I’ve seen it a couple times in the past hour. So...I--I have to ask. It’s not just the kink, is it?”

Steve’s mouth fell open and he was about to protest, when Tony’s moan stopped the retort in its tracks. A choked squawk tumbled from Steve’s lips instead..

“That’s…unfortunate,” Bruce murmured, believing he had his answer.

“No, Bruce. Stop.” Steve tsked and took both of his hands, and looked - really _looked_ \- deep into Bruce’s borrowed eyes. “There. _There_ you are. There’s the man I fell in love with, I can see him, peeking through.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “I want to believe you, but the way you’ve just acted–”

Steve tightened his grip. “Bruce,” he admitted, “your body is a piece of the puzzle, sure. But I could watch porn on the internet, if that’s all I cared about. I could watch headless bodies gorge and stuff themselves. I could tune in weekly, for weigh-ins. I could read fiction and fantasize.

“But, Bruce,” he said softly. “None of those people would be _you_. The sorta, kinda shy introverted scientist, who makes me laugh and believe in myself. The guy who’s part of the total package, with Tony the other part. But you're the one helping me realize my worth in this confusing world. Thing is,” he whispered. “I know you’re you. I fell in love with _you_. And if god forbid, if something happened, and you and Tony had to stay like this, yeah, I’d hate it. But I’d figure out how to deal because I love both of you, different bodies notwithstanding.”

A watery grin tugged at Bruce’s lips. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do, Bruce.” He pulled the man close to his chest and hugged him. Bruce shut his eyes a little, reveling in the close contact. It’d been awhile since he’d felt either Tony or Steve’s arms completely encircling him. He was way too big these days for either of them to hug him so closely.

“Ah- _hem_ ,” they heard, and both turned to see Tony wiping his chin with a napkin. “Not that I’m jealous, here, but…I’m jealous. Hurry up and eat up, before I eat up for you. ‘Cause we got some sexin’ to do.”

Steve made a face. “That sounds…really wrong. Your body with Tony’s words do not go well together.”

“But it’ll feel right, once we get started,” Tony said, and the brow-waggle (again) looked terrible on Bruce’s features.

Bruce shook his head. “C’mon, Steve. Best not to let all that energy go to waste. But,” he said, suddenly serious. “We should take it slow, so nothing goes wrong.”

***

Of course something went wrong.

Of _course._

He’d been so. Fucking. _Careless_ –!

Bruce gripped his newly-slimmed hips and angrily paced the lab. “Nothing?”

Tony shrugged and shook his head while tugging the hem of Bruce’s extra large undershirt. He felt far too exposed, since a good portion of his (Bruce’s) belly peeked from beneath, and he opened his mouth to say something about the snugness. But after catching the fury in Bruce’s glare (and how scary was that shit, seeing his own rage reflected back), Tony shut his mouth. He’d bug Bruce later, after they swapped back. If they...well. 

“No,” he muttered. “Strange isn’t ‘picking up.' Our connection’s still out.”

Bruce dug his fingers into his sides until they ached. He reached for his face, searching for the glasses that no longer framed his face, but knowing they weren’t there made him even angrier. “I fucked up. I should’ve–”

“No. Don’t say it, Bruce.” Tony came over and held out his arms, and Bruce sunk in. The sensation was like falling into a giant, absolutely heavenly, marshmallow. Bruce sighed, feeling as if he was in a super soft cloud.

Tony briefly pulled him back, forcing him to make eye contact. “We all thought we’d be safe enough.”

“Steve paid the price, Tony!”

“But it was _me_ this time, okay? You’ve got nothing to feel bad about. The Hulk--” Tony paused as a flash of memory caught him off-guard, but he shoved it down. “The Hulk came out of _me_ , Bruce. He body slammed Steve a few times, and then went back to…wherever he goes. But I could’ve said I felt off or funny; I chose not to. I put us in danger. I honestly didn't think sex, of all things, would be the trigger.”

Bruce ignored his words and shook his head. “ _I_ knew better, Tony. I definitely did. I was so fucking caught up in the moment, I didn’t–.”

Tony cut him off. “All three of us were caught up in the moment, Bruce.” Tony allowed his thicker lips to twist, and they turned to a salacious grin. It looked more obscene than usual, on Bruce’s ordinarily placid face.“We had some fun while it lasted, though.”

“That’s not…that’s not anywhere near funny, Tony.” Bruce felt himself vibrating with fury, and it was an emotion he seldom allowed. But he could now, being in Tony’s body. “ _Fuck_ you, he could’ve been _killed_! Hell, if I hadn’t gotten us out in time, it could’ve killed you _and_ me! We don’t know what’ll happen if one of us gets hurt, or dies in the others’ body, or–” Bruce’s breath hitched. “We can’t wait for Strange. We have to try changing back, right _now_.”

Tony folded his arms across his chest, and stared him down with Bruce’s glasses half down his nose. “So fine, Bruce. Show me where in the lab we have that special, super sciency soul-transferring equipment, then.”

Bruce glared at him, his eyes as determined as they were angry. “We do. Remember the AI data transference project?”

“Whoa, whoa. _Wait._ Slow the fuck down, Banner.” Tony held up his hands. “We haven’t fucking tested it. And even then, it was only going to be used for complicated AI systems. Are you honestly telling that me that you want the first and only human trials to be _us_? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Yep, but to be truthful, both of us are, aren’t we?” Tony rolled his eyes at Bruce’s dry quip and watched as he rolled his sleeves and headed for their lab. “But I’m not sure how much time we have left. We have the machine, but we don’t have Strange. Maybe we can synthesize a vial of that knock-out potion from the creature–”

“Yeah, um. Wait a minute…” Tony hesitated, and Bruce finally slowed in his tracks.

“What?”

Tony sighed. “I think you’re letting my energy fuel your reactions and it’s a little scary to see it up close but I get it now. The whole, ‘act first and think later’ shtick was due to my...manic state.”

Bruce snorted and bounced on the balls on his feet. “Maybe. But I’m still me, Tony, just faster. And I don’t think I’m wrong about the swap capabilities of our project.”

“But if you're wrong, we could be trapped in some weird limbo state.”

“True. The risks are real. But so is the Hulk.”

Tony shook his head, but rumbled through a sigh. Truthfully, he felt the Hulk pushing at his skull, threatening to take him over after his little taste of freedom. He hadn’t told Bruce, but truthfully he didn’t think he could control Hulk for much longer.

Besides, he kind of owed Bruce's plan to Steve, who was currently sleeping off a good thrashing.

“Okay,” he murmured. “But we need some failsafes. Let me program JARVIS so we can take it nice and slow.”

Which weren’t words he ever expected to leave his lips, any time soon.

***

Steve woke exhausted and a bit sore, and somewhat disappointed that his lovers weren’t surrounding him. Maybe it was a bit petulant of him, but he liked when he awoke in Tony and Bruce’s arms. He understood, kinda, because his guys had a lover that trumped them all (science). He didn’t have to like it, though.

When he shuffled down to the lab (limping, because he didn’t mention the healing ankle fracture; Bruce didn’t need to know that), he smiled sadly. Yep, they were involved with the fourth member of their trio that needed no introduction. Steve would never fall in love with science, not like they did. But he’d made tentative peace with it.

“JARVIS,” he sighed. “What’re they working on?”

“Modifications to Sir's data transference project,” JARVIS immediately answered. The AI saw no need to lie, but Steve frowned anyway. JARVIS correctly intuited his pause, and further explained. “They’re attempting to replicate the body transference, from the demonic creature’s chemical makeup.”

Steve felt his heart leap to his throat. “You mean they’re trying to swap back? Without Strange’s help?”

“Apparently, Captain Rogers.”

Dammit…now he _was_ steamed. How _dare_ they–

“JARVIS, can you get me in there?”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers.”

***

“No, no, Bruce. That’s not–”

“But it’ll work if–”

“Dammit if you just _listen_ to me, you’d–”

“No I won't, because if you do that, we’re gonna have to move–”

Steve put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and blew shrilly, freezing Tony and Bruce in place.

“ _Ow_ , man. Seriously?” Tony tugged his earlobe and fake-yawned. “You seriously had to whistle at us?”

“Honestly, Steve,” Bruce murmured. He rubbed his right temple. “You could’ve just used our names.”

“No I couldn’t have,” he grumped. “Because I’m pissed. At both of you.”

They pulled up short, then. “Why?” Bruce asked. Although the cute owlish act in Tony’s body wasn’t lost on Steve, he purposely lay his feelings aside.

“Because. You’re working on this body changing thing, which is dangerous. But you didn’t include me in any of your decisions.”

The two finally looked ashamed, but Steve wasn’t done glaring at them.

“Sorry,” Tony finally said. “We got caught up–”

“–in the moment,” Steve finished for him. “I know you did. Like you always do, when you’re working. But we talked about this, didn’t we? That we make decisions like this together? Especially when they concern all of us?”

Bruce scowled, noticing how Steve favored one leg over the other. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Steve barked, but Bruce eyed him warily. Steve knew he wouldn’t pacify him long, but he only needed a few more minutes. “I think it’s a rotten idea that you aren’t waiting for Strange, but I get it; you’re worried. But your worry might cause you to make dumb mistakes. Mistakes you can’t afford.”

Tony and Bruce sighed in tandem. “Yeah, we know,” Tony admitted, and Bruce gestured to Steve, while jutting his chin at a table. Grimacing, Steve hopped up, while Bruce bent down to check his ankle.

“We have to work fast, Steve.” Tony puffed out his cheeks, which, admittedly, was adorable with Bruce’s frame, but still–- “We’re…merging.”

Steve looked confused as Bruce prodded his ankle. “Wait, 'merging'? What do you mean by that?”

“He means we’re losing parts of ourselves,” Bruce said, while grabbing scissors, gauze, and athletic tape from a nearby cabinet. “We’re discovering that our individual bodies are influencing our personality matrices. In other words, Tony has a lot of high energy, due to his chemical makeup, and so I’m reacting to that. He, on the other hand, is responding to my body, and tends to be…”

“Sluggish,” Tony responded, without any self-effacing humor. “It’s true, though. I actually think before acting, for once.” He smiled, but his grin was a bit wan. “I think Bruce has always been sorta like that though, body notwithstanding.” He glanced at Bruce for confirmation, and the physicist nodded.

“Unfortunately, we’re on borrowed time. The Hulk is pushing hard, and I don’t think we have more than a few days before something bad happens.”

Bruce nibbled his lip and slowly wrapped Steve’s ankle. “If Hulk takes Tony over,” he said quietly, “the switch back will be nearly impossible. A one-to-one personality switch is bad enough; add the Hulk, and–”

“–we lose Tony,” Steve whispered.

Bruce swallowed, but neither he nor Tony said anything else. The room stayed silent, apart from a few computer beeps, while Bruce finished wrapping Steve’s ankle.

“There,” Bruce murmured. “All done. I would be angry at you for not telling us about your ankle, but…I suppose it’s tit-for-tat, since we didn’t tell you our plans.”

“Call us even.”

“And call us needing to get back to this,” Tony grumbled. “We’re gonna have to stay up for a few days straight to make sure it works.”

“Let me help,” Steve said, and the two scientists exchanged a look. “Listen, I’m not going to go anywhere anyway, and I refuse to let my best guys go at this without me being involved. I promise to stay out of your way but get me up to speed. I wanna know what’s going on, every step of the way. All or nothing, remember?”

Tony hid a small smile. “All or nothing,” he agreed, while Bruce nodded.

***

Steve designated himself the official caretaker, and made sure neither Tony nor Bruce overworked themselves despite their borrowed time schedule. He also listened to their back and forth science gibberish with a critical ear; some of it went over his head, but he got some of it - and what he didn't, he could figure out. Sometimes he caught things the scientists missed, and it’d fuel the fire anew.

“Tony, could you send me your frontal lobe info? I have a few things I want to try.”

“Comin’ your way.” Tony flicked his fingers, and a glowing chart hovered in front of Bruce. “And I will say, I see the appeal. I make an extremely dashing figure when I’m playing with science.”

Bruce’s lip quirked. “Well, hopefully you can have your body back soon, so I can have the same pleasure.” He made a few quick notations, but his small smile faded. “I’m almost finished mapping my brain. But yours is gonna be a challenge.”

“The Hulk?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m not sure if we can allocate enough serum for the return transfer.”

“Do we really need both? Maybe if we worked without the gas?”

“Not sure.” Bruce huffed between his teeth. “It might seem like overkill, but we don’t exactly know how the gas works, do we? The transference OS is supposed to function as a targeting site as the gas disperses. I don’t think we can use one without the other and still have it work. I swear, this’d be easier without…” He blinked, and jerked as if stung by a cattle prod. “Well, shit, of _course._ That’s it, that’s the answer.”

“What? What’re you–” Tony stopped short. “Wait. Tell me you’re not considering what I think you’re considering.”

Bruce deliberately didn’t look his way and wrote a few calculations on their shared workspace. “It’d solve a lot of issues, Tony.”

Tony quickly wiped away Bruce’s work, to stop him. “You don’t know how that’ll affect you! We don’t have time to guess!”

“Hulk broke Steve’s leg, Tony,” he said, swallowing. “He’s broken cities. People. Families. This could be our only chance.”

“No.” Tony and Bruce turned, as Steve interrupted their argument with one, firm word. “I’ve been listening to you both for the past twenty hours. And I get it. As much as I’m not a science geck–”

“Geek,” Bruce gently corrected.

“Geek, I still understand. From what you’ve been saying, the Hulk is a huge part of Bruce’s personality, hidden though he is. If you try taking him out of the equation, there’s a good chance we’ll lose a lot of who you are, too.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Bruce said, so softly that they almost didn’t hear him. “For the opportunity to do good again? To live without fear? I’d take it.”

“Oh, muffin,” Steve murmured. He limped over to Bruce and pulled his hand away from the screen while forcing him to look at him. “You were already those things with the Hulk. And you have him under control, now. The things…the _good_ things you’re doing now are making up for the past. This world now? It can’t live without a Hulk in it. It needs you _and_ him.”

“I…” Bruce shook his head. “That’s not true. It will never be true. I can’t–-he--I’ll never make up for what we—”

“Buddy,” Tony interrupted. He struggled to his feet and stood by Bruce’s other side. “We love you. All of you. And Steve’s right. I know…” he sighed and gently rubbed Bruce’s back. “I know it won’t make sense to you, but I can feel how much of you is intertwined with Hulk. You two balance each other.” He tilted his head. “You know how both of our personalities are mixing right now? You and Hulk _already_ mixed it up. I can actually hear snippets of you in my head, right now. And it’s from _him_.”

Tony guided Bruce into his huge, borrowed body. The physicist twitched like a livewire, nervously holding back whatever emotions plagued him.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Tony whispered. “But he misses you, Pooh bear. He wants…he wants to come home.”

Bruce barked out a sob and wiped away the sudden tracks down his face with a shaky hand, even as Steve squeezed his hand. “Dammit, Tony,” he sniffed. “You’re an emotional wreck.”

Tony huffed. “Yeah, well. I would lie and say that’s not me, but I know better. All or nothing, babe, okay?”

Bruce swallowed, and looked between the two men. They were both encouraging him, both rooting for him. How could he say no now? “Okay.” He nodded and fiercely wiped the remaining tears from his cheek. “You’re right. It’s all, or nothing.”

***

Near the forty hour mark they were all staring at a finished outline that would either put Bruce and Tony back in their original bodies, or irrevocably tear them apart.

“No pressure,” Tony sighed.

“Is it good enough?” Steve cautiously glanced between Bruce and Tony, who both wore identical facial expressions. Steve didn’t think that should scare him but maybe on an unconscious level it did.

“I think it has to be,” Tony said, and Bruce’s acknowledgement was a slow, uncomfortable sigh.

“Yeah.”

A sheen of sweat had broken across Tony’s (well, Bruce’s) forehead, and they didn’t need to say it; they were almost out of time. The Hulk was awake, aware, and impatient.

Steve swallowed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Wear this,” Bruce said, handing Steve a respirator. “JARVIS will monitor vitals, but if anything happens we may need you to get close enough to pull us out. I’m still not entirely sure how the gas works.”

Suddenly a small, strange chirrup caught their attention. As they turned, Strange’s demon pet chirped again, staring at them through red, unblinking eyes.

“That’s not bone-chilling or creepifying at all,” Tony muttered. “Not like it knows something we don’t, right?”

“Even if it did,” Bruce sighed, “it doesn’t matter. We still have to do this.” He glared at Tony. “You don’t have much longer. I know it.”

“Nah. I got this. Fifteen, twenty minutes, easy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Then let’s hurry,” Steve said. He motioned for the two to get ready, and they slowly stripped to their boxers. “You ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Tony said, laying on a cot they’d acquired from Bruce’s lab. It bowed under his weight, but it still held. Steve’s hands shook as he attached the electrodes across all his vital points.

“Trust us,” Tony said, grabbing his arm. Steve nodded shakily, and went over to Bruce, in Tony’s body.

Bruce motioned to the mask as Steve taped electrodes on him. “Strap that on tight, before we turn anything on. I was able to synthesize some of the creature’s musk, but we never got the chance to test it. I don’t know how powerful it is, or what it’ll do.”

“I get it Bruce. And you may not realize it,” he muttered, pulling the respirator over his nose and mouth. “But I’ve worn gas masks before. Just not as fancy.”

Bruce nodded, but he still looked the mask over, testing for issues, before Steve rolled his eyes and shoved him down. “Go to sleep, Bruce.”

He nestled Bruce and Tony’s own breathing masks over their mouths. “Begin counting backwards,” he told them, Then he silently said a prayer before starting the data transference program, as well as the distilled knockout gas.

***

The first five minutes were routine, according to JARVIS. “I can detect no problems, Captain Rogers. Everything seems to be proceeding on schedule, albeit slowly.”

Steve nodded, but continued to pace the floor. “You’re still carefully monitoring their brain patterns? Making sure they’re…okay?”

“Of course, sir. Due to the unusual nature of the situation, however, I’m unable to predict anomalies.”

“In other words it’s wait and see, huh?”

“Unfortunately. I will be able to alert you if something immediately occurs, but I cannot tell you beforehand.”

Steve sighed, staring at his hands. “Understood. We figured as much.”

Steve was about to ask JARVIS another question, when he heard a piercing screech from the corner of the room. “What in the world–?”

Spinning on his heel, he got a good look at their trapped “guest.” It was suddenly rising up to its full height, and flapping its wings like an angry bat. Did it even _have_ wings before? He wasn’t sure–

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS began. “I’m detecting increasing amounts of the foreign compound rising in the room.”

“What?” Steve narrowed his eyes at the creature. “Is it coming from Bruce and Tony, or that…thing?”

“All three, I’m afraid. Its as if the amounts are being raised on purpose.”

That didn’t sound good…”Is it affecting Tony, or Bruce?”

JARVIS paused before responding. “Their blood pressure levels are steadily climbing, and both experiencing various forms of respiratory distress.”

“Shut it down, JARVIS,” Steve said quickly. He rushed over, and saw both Tony and Bruce’s faces contorting in their unconscious states. “Shut it down, reverse it, do whatever you need to do.”

“Captain Rogers - Steve - something…something is preventing me from doing so.” Even JARVIS sounded distressed. “My control overrides are being blocked.”

“How?!” Steve reached for the off switch, but was blown back by some kind of electrostatic discharge. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he had an idea. He glared at the monster in the room.

“Captain Rogers, their blood pressure levels are dangerously high, and I fear we may have a Code Green within minutes.

 _Dammit._ His gaze flickered to Tony, and it did look like he was growing. And a distinct green tinge crawled down his arm. 

He didn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he shouted, staring down the demon. “You wanna switch with someone, then you can switch with me. Just leave them out of this!”

A small growl - something almost like a chuckle - emanated from the demon’s throat, and it motioned to Steve with a claw. Steve obeyed and ignored JARVIS’ outcry, while slowly removing the respirator from his face.

“This is what you wanted, right?” The fumes made him dizzy, but he didn’t care. “You’ll put them back, if I do this? You and I switch, and you’ll put them back–? Promise me!”

The demonic chuckle grew to a howl.

 _Sorry guys, had to make a deal with the devil,_ Steve thought darkly.

His vision swam. He held on, hoping…praying that he was doing the right thing. Tony and Bruce would be mad. But there wasn’t another way, this time. And there was no way to warn them. Besides, they discussed contingencies. They just didn’t…didn’t think it would be… _him_ …

Steve felt his lids grow heavy and he dropped to his knees. Before he hit unconsciousness he heard the demon roar. And then–

**_-–Stop!_ **

***

Was he in the ice? Was he dreaming? His mind floated in and out, like drifting through a soupy, freezing fog.

***

_“That idiot.”_

_“Shh!”_

_“If he’s okay, I get to yell at him. You said ‘all bets are off,’ and I’m holding you to that.”_

**Both of you. Be quiet.**

Steve heard that, louder than the other words.

Where was he?

**Ah. Hello, Captain Rogers.**

Steve blinked. Who was talking?

**Dr. Stephen Strange, at your service. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before this time. But I’m here now. That’s all that matters.**

Are you…are you in my mind?

**Sort of. Your conscious state is currently on the astral plane. I had to bring you here to heal you. I apologize for the odd state of things. You’re currently unconscious. You should be all right within a day or two, once I set you right.**

Tony? Bruce? Are they–

**They’re fine. As soon as I was able to stabilize the demonic presence, I reversed the damage it had done, and returned them to their host bodies.**

Okay…good. And that creature–?

**Returned to its realm. It’s over, Captain Rogers. And your companions are waiting for you to awaken, so if you’re feeling up to it?**

Yes, absolutely.

***

A deep sigh rose from his chest, and he felt two sets of hands - one meaty, one lithe - grab hold of him.

“Be careful, Steve. Don’t rush yourself.”

“Rush, nothing. The doofus has been out for two days. It’s about time he opened up those baby blues.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered at the voice, and he frowned a little at Tony’s looming face. “Tony…?” His voice sounded like sandpaper wrapped in lead.

“In the flesh.” And oh, what a sight, to see that crazy grin and facial hair in the right body.

“And Bruce?”

“On your left,” Bruce teased, mimicking Sam Wilson. Steve slowly turned his head as a grin spread across his lips. Bruce’s voice, and Bruce’s glorious body. All in one perfect place. “I thought we talked about this martyr thing.”

“Yeah, we did,” Tony said, sitting on the edge of their bed. Apparently they were in their shared bedroom, which Steve really appreciated. No more waking up in hospital beds or unfamiliar places for him, no sir. “ _Someone_ needs a little lesson in how not to scare his boyfriends.”

Steve groaned, struggling to sit up, and felt a tug as Bruce pulled him up. He still felt wiped, but cuddling into Bruce’s soft shoulder definitely helped. “Where’s Strange?”

“He left a few minutes ago. He said to tell you to quit playing the hero.”

“That was all you, Tony.” Bruce gently squeezed Steve’s hand. “But Tony’s not wrong. We were lucky Strange came along in time, but still.”

Steve shook his head. He coughed, and Bruce brought a cup of water to his lips. “You two were as good as dead, according to JARVIS. There wasn’t another choice to make. So next time, we go outside the boundaries and include me in the contingency plan. That’s all I have to say about that. Fair?”

Tony chuckled. “I forgot how much of a pain in the ass he is, first thing after waking up.”

Bruce hid his smile, but the bed still rocked from his hidden laughter. Steve smiled a little broader, enjoying the rippling effect through his own body, due to his proximity to Bruce. But instead of arguing with Tony, Bruce kissed Steve’s temple.

“It was interesting being in Tony’s body for a bit but I’m glad to be in my own. Frankly, I missed my…ah. _Heft_.”

“Yeah. I had to regain my balance there, big guy.” Tony smirked fondly at Bruce, and Steve wondered if the shared experience brought them closer. His smile faded, believing he’d missed some shared opportunity of deepening their relationship.

“Never mind. Scoot over.” Bruce lifted the comforter as Steve headed toward the middle of the bed, and Tony joined him on his other side. Steve blinked, realizing the pair were in their bedclothes; he wondered what time it was.

“What are you two doing?”

“Cuddling,” Bruce said.

“Cuddling?”

“Yep.” Tony turned on the TV. “JARVIS ordered take-out, and I programmed the bots to deliver it. So nope, no getting out of this bed for a while. You’re stuck with us.”

Steve sighed softly as Bruce covered his left side like a giant sheepdog, and Tony curled up on his right like a cat. He murmured his thanks as Bruce ran his fingers through his hair and kissed him softly, while Tony grabbed his hand. Well, maybe he did miss a bit of bonding. But having his best guys in bed with him, like this, was ten times better anyway.


	42. The One Where the Boys Discover New Kinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Do the lovely Stark Spangled Banner trio ever try any other kinks? Or incorporate other kinks with their feedism?_
> 
> **_Yes they have, and they do…all three share a desire for watching the other two go at it, and role-play is something they like to do together. Food with bondage is something Bruce has only recently allowed, and he’s discovering that he really likes it. And it’s funny how that came about._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More nsfw than past works

***

“Huh.”

“What?”

Steve didn’t respond, but Bruce looked over anyway; Steve's utterance had been less authoritative than normal. In fact, it sounded more like a squawk. Or a squeak. “What’s the matter?”

A slow blush crept up the soldier's neck as he rolled a magazine and clumsily hid it behind a couch cushion. "N-nothing. It's nothing." They'd all opted to see a movie in the lounge but Tony'd left ten minutes ago, telling them to pause it. Bruce hid a smile. Steve got a little bored, apparently, and accidentally uncovered Tony’s "secret" magazine stash. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce murmured. “I told Tony to put those things in a safe place for your sake, but him having them around doesn’t make him love us any less.” He absently wondered which title Steve grabbed. Bruce sometimes leafed through the magazines when Tony wasn’t around, mainly due to his dark curiosity regarding Tony's fantasies. But he honestly derived little sexual pleasure from looking at them.

“Compared to what you might've read back in the day, they’re probably pretty racy. But we can talk about it, if you’d like.” Curious, Bruce titled his head. “Was it one of the women’s magazines, or the men’s?”

“Uh...it had both,” Steve stuttered clumsily, and Bruce watched Steve's neck blush a deeper shade of red. He tried not to smile but it was cute, really. 

Bruce opened his mouth to say more but Steve shook his head. "No. It's okay. And contrary to popular belief, I'm not _that_ innocent." He looked over at Bruce with exasperation. “C'mon, I was in the military. You don’t think I got an eyeful? I read my share of bluesies. I drew some of 'em, too.”

And that took Bruce aback; he hadn't thought Steve drew those kinds of comics...on the other hand, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Steve’s sexual appetite surpassed Tony’s in some ways, after all. 

Bruce chuckled darkly to himself, and gently squeezed his giant, jiggly midsection. Yep, most definitely did. 

“And I know how to use Google, Muffin. Stuff I've seen..." And now it was Bruce's turn to blush when he caught hints of Steve's wicked grin. Shit. Maybe he should fear for his _own_ safety. 

"But that’s…that's not it. That's not what I meant.” Bruce waited, but when Steve began whiteknuckling his khakis, Bruce figured he ought to chime in sooner. Grunting, he used his momentum to roll up from his comfy position and crowd closer to Steve.

“Then what _do_ you mean?” Bruce grabbed Steve’s hand and massaged it gently. “You can say it. Nothing you say will surprise me.” Especially not with everything they'd done the past year, or so.

But then Tony entered the room with arms full of snacks, making Bruce sigh. He wasn’t sure if Tony's timing was horrible, or great. “Don’t you two look cozy,” he quipped, laying out the snacks. “Scoot back over, Brucie.”

“In a sec.” He nudged Steve’s knee, hoping whatever he wanted to say he could say in front of both of them. "If it's bothering you that much, Tony should hear it, too. Otherwise, things could get awkward." He meant the last part as a lame quip, but the color suddenly drained from Steve's face.

Uh, oh. How bad was it?

Steve briefly glanced between the two of them while Tony shifted anxiously. If Steve didn’t talk soon, Tony would probably say something to drag the words out.

“Well?” Bruce sighed again as Tony interrupted; that didn’t take long. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Tony, wait. Maybe –”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve pulled the magazine from behind the couch, and Tony’s eyes widened. Bruce challenged Tony's comical double take and quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say, _see? I told you to put them in a safe place._

“Steve, I...ah. I can explain –”

“Explain?” Steve genuinely looked surprised. "You think I'm--you _do_ , don't you? You and Bruce. I swear." His lips curved into a small grin. “No, Tony. I’m not mad, or embarrassed. At least not in the way you two are gettin' at. It's..." He sighed. "I saw a few things in your magazine, Tony. Things I…ah. I wanted to...to _try_.”

“Oh ho _ho_ ,” Tony growled, snatching the magazine from Steve’s hands. Bruce found his own face heating up as he understood: Steve wasn't embarrassed for himself, oh no; he was embarrassed that it might be too much for his _partners._ Bruce briefly chewed his lips when he caught the actual cover. Hmmm...it was definitely one of Tony’s racier ones. And depending on what Steve saw, the other man could be right; Bruce wasn't comfortable with everything in that particular zine - it pushed his own boundaries a little too far.

“Uh,” Bruce began, as Steve and Tony poured over the pictures. Stuck in the middle, he couldn’t unsee what they saw. “It’s probably better if you two come up with something for yourselves, “ he said, shuffling forward to the edge of the couch. He rocked a few times until his bulk’s momentum propelled him to his feet. “It’s not really my thing.”

Both Tony and Steve’s faces fell when he poured his frame into a nearby chair. “Aw, Bruce,” Tony muttered. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Steve came over to him with the crumpled magazine in his hand. “What he said, Muffin, but are you sure? Not any of it? What about…?” He flopped open a page, and Bruce saw what they’d been ogling. Well...okay. That wasn’t _that_ bad, but--

“So? What do you think?”

Bruce stroked his chubby chin. “I dunno. We’d have to go slow. _Really_ slowly - I'm not joking, Tony." He glared at his other partner and Tony shrugged in agreement. "Anything new like this takes negotiation and some planning, because I'm gonna have to explain it to...the Other Guy. He might not take too kindly to something like...like that.”

He swallowed and glanced at Steve and Tony, but frowned at the shared twinkle in their eyes. _Dammit._ He rolled his eyes and let out a long, protracted sigh. "No promises. But we could try it, once we negotiate through each step. There are some major boundaries here, and I have to figure out how comfortable he and I are with it. Got it?"

Both Tony and Steve nodded. And Bruce hoped they understood.

***

In the end, Bruce realized he shouldn't have worried. Nowadays, _he’s_ the one who initiates, even more than Steve or Tony. He likes the silk scarves they use to fasten his arms over the headboard, while the toys send him over the physical edge almost as soon as he feels them on his skin. It’s the blindfold, really - that, and the feather-light ticklers, trailing over his wealth of skin. He likes it best when they combine feeding with tickling him…he’d always been a bit touched starved before Steve and Tony, so these new bedroom antics fill his emptiness in more ways than he’d expected. He quickly and greedily gobbles down everything and anything they feed him, just to increase the wealth of silks, furs, and feathers tracing his giant body in long, sensual trails.

As for the others? Well, Tony enjoys wearing (and using) handcuffs, which Bruce is ok with, to a point. Steve likes to be spanked, but Bruce can't do it; he'll watch Tony paddle Steve, but that's as much as he can take. Steve’s the one who doesn’t mind a little pain, but on principle Bruce doesn't get involved. Tony will warn them, though, and if it gets too rough - or if Bruce feels his alter stirring - they'll immediately ease off. It's all of them in agreement, or nothing, that's what they decided. Occasionally they'll add costumes, though Tony thinks wearing them is too silly. He loves to watch Bruce and Steve act in them, though. 

Costume night is usually Steve’s favorite. Bruce figures it's due to all that acting on stage he did, back in WWII. Bruce secretly believes Steve misses it.


	43. The One Where the Boys Adopt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: What would chubby!bruce do if he found an orphan on the street? Would he adopt her/him? How clingy would they be to him? (I think the child would find his soft body a huge comfort and hardly leave his side)_
> 
> _**I was trying to come up with something that works, but it was going to become a huge epic that wasn't coming together. I may still use your original idea anon, but for now I kinda…tweaked your idea. Please don’t be mad. :)** _   
> 

Tony did a double-take from his tablet after Bruce casually strolled by him. Bruce was whistling, which wasn’t that bothersome. He was also carrying an armload of groceries, but that didn’t bother Tony either. What did bother him, though--

“ _Bruce_.” He didn’t bark Bruce’s name, per se, but his tone was far from gentle. “What the hell is that?”

“Hm? Oh. I bought a few extra snacks.” Bruce’s cheeks colored slightly as tugged his shirttails; some of the lower buttons were threatening to secede from their holes. “Guess I’ve been plowing through them a bit more than normal, and my appetite’s incre-–”

“No, no no,” Tony growled. He vaulted over the couch, causing Bruce’s right eyebrow to raise a millimeter, and landed in front of Bruce. “Hell with the groceries. I don’t care jack shit about the groceries–-” although he did pause to pinch Bruce’s side and smirk wickedly, before barreling on.

“I’m talking about _that_.” Tony pointed near Bruce's feet. “What. Is. _That._ ”

Bruce almost rolled his eyes. “And you call yourself a genius. When a girl dog and a boy dog fall in love–”

“Banner!”

“Fine,” Bruce said, letting out a long, tired sigh. “It followed me home. I promise you, I didn’t feed it, and I barely spoke to it--”

Tony moaned. “You talked to it.”

“Barely. I said ‘shoo.’”

“And?”

Bruce switched his feet. “I may have…pet it.”

“ _And_?”

“Okay, okay. So maybe I checked for identification and cuddled it a little.”

Tony shook his head. “Take it to the pound, Bruce.”

“I will,” he drawled. He put the groceries in the kitchen, and the weird little dog - part chihuahua and maybe part dachshund and something else - followed quietly on Bruce’s heels, like it owned the place. Or owned Bruce, at least. “I’ll take it over in the morning.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “We are not keeping that thing overnight. You see how little it is? It’ll yap all goddamn night! Plus, I bet it has a shitload of fleas and ticks, and God knows what else-–”

“Jarvis,” Bruce said, calmly ignoring Tony, “please order some dog flea shampoo, a dog comb, a collar, and some dog food. A good kind. Something moist and dry, for dogs under ten pounds.”

“Bruce--!”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed. “It’s too late to take it over now, the pound’s closed. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask you or Steve, but I’m not going to kick it to the curb. I can’t do it.”

And because. Just because it could. It made a small whimpering noise, and stared at Tony with its huge, round, anime eyes.

“Don’t you start,” Tony groused. He swore quietly under his breath. “One night,” he spat. “But only if Steve agrees. Clean it up, do whatever you need to, but it stays in the guest bathroom. And I’m not picking up any shit or piss!”

“Understood,” Bruce said, but Tony swore he saw a small smirk of victory pinking the man’s lips. “Jarvis," Bruce said as an afterthought, "put in an order for some puppy training pads, too.”

“Honestly,” Tony grumped. “It’s a hazard. It’ll be underfoot and it’ll shed everywhere. Clean it up or whatever so it doesn’t spread it’s germs and junk all over, but I want it out first thing.”

“Got it.”

Tony made a face and stomped out of the room.”Guess I should be lucky he didn’t make friends with a fuckin' Rottweiler.”

**

“A stray, huh?”

Steve gently spread his fingers up and down the newly washed pup, and he and Bruce estimated the dog to be maybe a year or two old, despite being so tiny. They both figured it’s smallness was due to the breed, too.

“I think so.” He’d just fed it a moment ago, and it gobbled down the food as if it hadn’t eaten in a week. Which could’ve been true, since it was so very skinny on top of being on the small side. “Despite its size, it had a bunch of fleas, and I don’t think it’s been treated well.”

Steve made a face when he felt a few rough patches beneath the dog’s short fur. “Those feel like bad scabs.” He looked up at Bruce while simultaneously picking up the light dog - barely five pounds, by Bruce’s estimate. Steve cuddled the pup close and it whimpered softly while nosing Steve's chest. “Shh,” he cooed. He carefully rocked it in his arms. “Did it feel warm to you, when you held it?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if that’s normal, or not.” Bruce sighed and folded his arms across his ample middle. “I’m thinking the dog followed me home because it’s practically given up. It was either take a chance on me, or die in the streets.”

Steve’s hand paused, and the dog’s tail thumped gently across his arm. “You think?”

“It’s a possibility. But we can’t let him get too comfortable; we have to get it back to the pound in the morning. Tony wasn’t all that happy with me.”

“Mm.”

They both remained quiet for a few seconds, then Bruce casually glanced at his nails.”We should take it to the vet first, though. If it is sick, we really don’t want it infecting other dogs.”

“Good idea,” Steve said quickly. A bit too quickly, really. “For the other dogs at the pound, I mean.”

“Sure. While there, we can also check to see if it's been tagged. Maybe someone owned it, and they've been searching around for it.” He gave the dog a few gentle pats, and let it snuggle with Steve for a bit. Although, if he were really fair with himself, he would’ve admitted that he and Steve were doing exactly what Tony didn’t want: they were getting too attached.

Sighing, Bruce decided to grab a snack in the kitchen to try and maintain his distance. Otherwise it’d just hurt that much more the next day.

**

At two a.m. Tony jolted awake, heart pounding wildly between his ribs.

“Y’right?” 

Tony allowed himself a smile before briefly running a hand through Bruce’s hair. “Fine, Brucie Bear. Just…a nightmare.” He rustled back the covers and tucked his guys back in. The dream was bad enough that going back to sleep wasn’t really in the cards.

Steve yawned. “You want company?”

“Nah.” He gave Steve a gentle peck on the lips. “Just gonna head down to the lab for a bit. Take my mind off it.”

“Y’sure?” 

Tony smiled as Bruce poked his head from beneath the covers, squinting across the room while sporting a wild case of bedhead. “I’m sure. I’ll probably be back around breakfast and y’know. Take a half-day from work or something.”

“Tony–”

He held up his hand and headed for the door, brooking no further argument. “Back to sleep, guys. It happens. I’ll be fine.” He sensed their disquiet but gave both what he hoped was a soothing grin before exiting their bedroom. To be honest he was glad they didn’t join him; the nightmare had been about losing them and not being able to protect them - same old song and dance. But seeing them while he worked would’ve ramped up his anxiety, and they really didn’t need to be nervous for him either. 

Stifling a yawn Tony headed for the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, but stilled his tracks when he heard a soft skritch skritch coming from somewhere in the house. He was immediately on alert, and headed for the kitchen for the largest knife in the drawer. “Jarvis,” he rasped, “someone’s in the house. Gently wake up Steve and Bruce, but go with protocol alpha-two-niner–”

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “I believe the noise may be the dog.”

“What?” He shook his head, not really listening. How the hell did someone break in? He'd burglar-proofed the penthouse, and apart from magic there was no friggin' way anyone could've broken his mag-locks. He grabbed a bread knife, then dropped it after spying the 12-inch butcher’s knife. No. Their home was supposed to be safe. Even Natasha couldn’t--

“Sir,” Jarvis said more insistently. “The dog Dr. Banner brought home. It’s in the bathroom, and currently pawing the bathroom door. I detect you, Doctor Banner, Captain Rogers, and one dog in your immediate vicinity. There is no one else.”

“The…dog?

“Yes, sir.”

Tony felt his knees weaken and he tossed the knife back into the drawer. “That pain in the ass mutt. Of course it is. The little–”

_Skritch skritch skritch_

“Yeah, sure. Scare me to death, and now you want out. Well, sorry, you’re in dog jail, but you deserve it, you little monster.”

 _Skritch skritch skritch–_ ”Yip!”

“Shh, you’re gonna wake ‘em up, god dammit–”

“Yip!” _SKRITCH SKRITCH SKRITCH_

Tony shuffled to the bathroom door, all the while making shushing noises. “Quiet down in there,” he grumbled. “You’re gonna wake up everyone. You’ve gotta wait ‘til morning.”

_Skritchy-skritchy-skritchy “Yipyipyipyip–!”_

“Shit...”

Tony made a face. “Shush, shut it! Look, if I let you out, do you promise to keep quiet?”

Silence.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Swearing and shaking his head, he opened the door a crack and against his better judgment. The dog immediately nosed the rest of the door opened and circled Tony’s legs before trying to root out where his other playmates had gone.

“Ohh, no you don’t,” Tony muttered. He picked it up, and noticed with a frown that it was pretty tiny. And thin. “We should let Steve feed you,” he said, chuckling. “He’ll have you waddling in no time.”

Tony expected the dog to struggle more, but it had relaxed in his arms, despite being carried like a football. “Gettin’ comfy, huh? Well, fine. Why don’t you and I watch some tv, to keep you out of trouble.

No way was he getting used to it. Nope. Wasn’t happening. But the dog was…pretty soft, and comforting. And it had begun calming down, once he held it and pet it a few times.

Tony snuggled into the front room’s couch and turned on the tv. He had it on low so it wouldn’t disturb Bruce or Steve, and he nestled the dog in the crook of his elbow. “This is a one-time deal, understand?” He craned his neck so he could stare at it. “So don’t get too comfortable.” 

The dog simply sighed at him and gave him a look that could melt the sternest of hearts. Or even metal ones. But Tony’d stay firm. No dogs, that was his rule, and he meant it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. "Just go to sleep.” As if it understood, it lay its muzzle on Tony’s stomach. Tony kept petting it, hoping it would keep keep quiet until dawn. After all, he wasn’t going to get any more sleep.

**

Steve was the first up, as he usually was, before the seven a.m. alarm. No Tony, but he knew that; Tony had planned on staying up in the lab, or something. 

He put on his workout gear, then headed for the kitchen for a good protein meal before working out. He’d discovered long ago that a decent meal before a workout helped balance his metabolism, at least somewhat.

But on his way out, he heard a long, honking snore. _Tony,_ he thought, fighting a small laugh. Figures he would’ve crashed on the couch. Maybe it was better than the lab, though, considering all the dangerous chemicals around there.

Steve peeked over the couch expecting to see Tony drooling into his arm, but was more surprised to see their little house guest up on all four paws, steadying itself on Tony’s abdomen.

“Heeey there, sweet pea,” he whispered, and he instantly took the dog off Tony’s belly. Tony snorted a little in his sleep and frowned, but didn’t wake.

Steve shook his head, looking between the dog and Tony. “Yeah, he can protest all he likes, but we know the truth, don't we?” Maybe Tony changed his mind? Steve hoped maybe…well. He sighed. Best not to get his hopes up. Maybe Tony needed the company but he might sing a different tune once he woke.

Steve smiled at the dog. “You hungry?”

The dog wagged it’s tail, and gave Steve a small, hesitant lick on his chin. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you something, then have you do your business. It won’t help matters if you make a stinky, and someone steps in it.”

After placing down the dog food Bruce had ordered yesterday, the man himself came lumbering into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his belly. Steve had to give him a lingering smile - Bruce’s pajama top and bottoms were a bit too snug again, giving Steve a wonderful view of Bruce's tummy and love handles. 

“Mmm,” Steve muttered. He couldn’t help himself, and he pulled Bruce into a fierce hug. “Mornin’, Muffin.” 

Bruce stopped short of squawking, since he was barely awake, but snuggled into Steve’s warm arms while chuckling to himself. “You nearly knocked me over. You know how not-awake I am, first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t care.” Steve sighed into his neck and let his hands wander further south, where he could give Bruce’s pudge a gentle pinch. “Needed my morning snuggle.”

Bruce accepted it with a resigned sigh, but he loved it, despite how handsy Steve got in the morning. Changing subjects, he gestured to the floor with his chin. “How’s our temporary house guest doing?”

Steve let his gaze linger at Bruce a half-second, then let go to pet the dog. It seemed in the zone with its food, and Steve didn’t feel like disturbing it, but it’s coat was so soft. “Pretty well, I think. And you’d never guess where I found it this morning.”

Bruce moaned a little. “Oh, hell. Did it get out and make a mess?”

“No, I don’t think so. But it was sleeping on Tony’s chest.”

“Really?” He blinked in disbelief, and stared at the dog. “And he let it?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess. He was out cold in the TV room.”

“Interesting.” Bruce tapped his chin. 

Steve glanced at him with a small smile. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking we might have a new dog, then yes.”

**

All three of them ended up taking the dog to the vet, with Tony’s protests becoming less and less firm the more the dog snuggled up to him in the car. At the vet they realized the poor dog wasn't tagged but it _had_ been abused, but fortunately it–- _she_ –-didn’t have any lasting damage. And apart from a small cold, she was in remarkably good condition.

Tony’s first name for her, “Monster,” was of course vetoed by both Steve and Bruce. “Although,” Bruce said, thoughtfully, “Remember the wife’s name from the Munsters?”

“Lily?”

“Yeah. Lily.”

They all laughed, agreeing “Lily” was a perfect name.

Tony realized taking Lily for romps in the dog parks helped his anxiety some, and Bruce welcomed Lily’s calming personality when he felt his own anxieties peaking. Her presence seemed to calm them all down, and she almost had a preternatural ability to sense when any of them felt out of sorts, or panicky, or depressed. Tony thought she had the innate ability to become a service dog though Bruce just figured she cared about the three of them so much, that she could share her love equally, whenever needed.

And apart from that first night of tiny-dog yapping, she was remarkably quiet.

And that's the story of how Lily the orphan came to be part of the Rogers-Banner-Stark clan.


	44. The One Where Tony Hurt Bruce's Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Anonymous asked: Have Tony or Steve ever made a weight related joke or comment that really upset Bruce?_ **
> 
> _I’d have to say yes, in a way - although they never meant to hurt or embarrass Bruce._

It wasn’t bad, per se, but it wasn’t…comfortable. It happened because Tony was trying to describe something to the other Avengers in the room, during one of their team dinners. He had to find some kind of analogy, which Bruce understood, but it didn’t help matters that Tony and Clint had pre-gamed a little before dinner, and were currently taking in a few more glasses of chardonnay than Bruce would’ve liked. Still, it was a celebration, and everyone was in high spirits. 

Emphasis on the high.

“So this guy, _this_ guy,” Tony began. And everyone at the table was laughing, tears streaming down their faces, because it was that damned funny - “suddenly came over, like some sorta hero wanna be–”

“Wait, wait,” Clint interrupted, mid-laugh. “Was he still wearing–?”

“Yeah, oh, yeah. Jock strap. Right on his face.”

Clint giggled. “With a red cape?”

“Cape, boxers, and a painted-on ‘S’ on his longjohns,” Tony grinned mischievously. “C’mon, Barton, he was a hero.”

Even Natasha couldn’t help the slow lip roll, preventing her from busting out. Everyone else, including Rhodey, was hugging their sides. 

“But why? Why the jock strap?”

“Right? I mean, the guy was pushin’ three-twenty easy, massive, huge guy. ‘Course not near the size of our Big Guy here. But still–” Tony puffed out his cheeks and rounded out his arms to indicate the massiveness of his opponent. 

Most the table laughed.

But Bruce was an expert at hiding his emotions. He’d grown up doing so, thanks to his wonderful homelife. One wrong twitch of the cheek, and he’d end up in the hospital, courtesy of his very imaginative, very cruel father. So he doubted anyone saw the slight turn of his lips or the twitch in his cheek. He smiled with the rest of the group, the same, shy smile they were used to seeing from him, and within seconds he’d convinced himself that Tony’s comment meant nothing to him. He was that good at convincing himself.

But after Tony’s story he still felt a few pairs of eyes his way, and that wouldn’t do; he neither needed their pity, nor wanted it. “Fortunately,” Bruce interrupted, grinning as safely as he dared. “Tony was able to diffuse the situation, and the fellow got the mental help he needed.” He sighed a little as he lumbered to his feet. “But, hey, don’t forget we’ve got tons of pies and cakes and desserts in the kitchen, and surprisingly enough, I can’t eat them all.” He ignored the few chuckles that followed. “Who wants what?”

After taking note of everyone’s requests, he plodded into the kitchen and set about plating all the desserts - correctly, of course. Because mundane tasks kept his mind from considering other things.

“That wasn’t fair.”

Bruce straightened quickly, suddenly catching Steve’s frame in the doorway. He frowned; Steve was effectively blocking the main exit from the kitchen, and it would be too obvious if he chose the long way out. Bruce sighed. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but it seemed he had little choice.

He plated a slice of cherry pie before licking his thumb. “What wasn’t?” 

Steve’s sigh was both sharp and uncomfortable. “You know what. And don’t try hiding it, because I know you too well and I know your ‘tells.’ Tony was way outta line.”

Bruce thought a bit, wondering if he could get away with stretching the truth, but opted for honesty. Because he sure as hell didn’t want the conversation to go any longer than it needed to. “It’s not a huge deal,” he murmured. He placed a slice of peach cobbler on Rhodey’s plate as his lips curled to a curt smirk. “Well. Not like m–”

“No. Stop it.”

Steve sprang from the door and took two quick steps to where Bruce’s fist had unconsciously tightened around the pie cutter. “Don’t,” Steve said, gripping Bruce’s shoulders. “Don’t ever belittle yourself, who you are now. It’s important not to.”

“Is it?” Bruce huffed, and he hadn’t realized how Tony’s words affected him until the hot reaction bubbled inside and threatened to boil over. His gaze sharpened and his expression - possibly greenish, the anger felt close enough - halted Steve’s rant just enough. “Sorry, are you being summarily made into a joke’s punchline? Enough to feel less than human?” 

_Again,_ He nearly added, but the gentling in Steve’s soft blue eyes held back his tongue.

“No,” Steve murmured. “Unless we bodyswap like you and Tony did that one time, I’ll never know.” They heard a tiny whimper by their feet, and Steve reached down and tenderly cupped Lily, their small little chihuahua mix, to his chest. “But I do know what it’s like to be made fun of because of your body.” He gently pet Lily a few times before putting her back on the floor. Bruce watched as the little dog skipped her way back to her dog bed, in the far corner of the kitchen.

“And,” Steve said after a hefty sigh, “believe it or not, I was teased for being too small. A runt. Hell,” he said, smirking. “You should’ve heard the names they called me back then. It would’ve tested your calm, Bruce. I swear.”

Some of the fight went out of him, and Bruce hummed contritely before cutting a large slice of black forest cake for Natasha. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He gave a little shrug before sliding the cake on a paper plate. “I keep forgetting that part.”

“I never do. It’s part of me, Bruce. Sometimes I can’t help thinking everything’s a fight, but I’ve got you and Tony to help balance me out. But,” he said, gently rubbing Bruce’s shoulders, “I’m still not you. In my opinion, you’ve got a right to be angry at Tony for calling you out like that - whether or not he realized it. But you’ve gotta let him know, too. Don’t let him get away with it. My guess is, he thinks the teasing we do in the bedroom is okay to do outside the bedroom. Or he forgot himself. Either way, it’s time to remind him, maybe. Yeah?”

Bruce nodded and cut a swath of coconut cream pie, for Tony. “I may need your help,” Bruce said, staring at the pie slice. “Both Tony and I are notoriously bad at explaining how we feel. And part of me just wants to forget about it already.”

“I know. But it’ll come up again, Bruce. And then it’ll sting twice as bad. You know it will.”

Bruce sighed heavily. “I know. Just…give me a few days to think about it, okay?”

Steve shook his head and grabbed a few of the plates. “All right. Two days, max. Or else I’m comin’ after you.”

“Got it.” Bruce smiled softly as he grabbed a few plates and followed Steve out of the kitchen.

***

And, on cue, two days later Bruce, Tony, and Steve had a long conversation - some hours’ worth - on what was and wasn’t safe talk outside of the bedroom. Tony was immediately ashamed of his behavior, once he realized; he’d never meant to hurt Bruce that way. Tony’d assumed a lot about Bruce after the body swap, and a lot of those assumptions, they discovered, had been incorrect. It did take Bruce a few months to trust Tony with that part of himself again (about as long as it took to re-educate Tony from his incorrect expectations). But once Bruce trusted Tony again, the relationship between the three of them deepened and matured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I have mixed feelings about body positivity because the movement can have it's own set of problems. Just to be clear: I think in this case Steve is trying to empathize with Bruce, but he'll never know what it's like to *be* Bruce. And in that, the teasing comparisons are different. But due to how harshly Steve was treated, I think he can closely understand Bruce, despite his thin privilege. Anyway - that's another discussion for another day.


	45. Cocoa and Marshmallow Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce relax by the fire, drink cocoa, and eat snacks while waiting for Steve's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Chubby!Bruce holiday fic. No prompt. :)

Bruce may have had some of his own regrets for getting fat, but Tony doesn’t have any (and he knows Steve definitely doesn’t). Humming softly, Tony hugs Bruce’s middle just a little tighter as he snuggles him on the couch. The glow from the fireplace and the warmth emanating from Bruce’s round, Santa-like belly eases all anxiety, and as Bruce breathes, his giant stomach lifts Tony’s head ever so gently up and down, up and down, lulling him into a peaceful doze. It’s like cuddling up to a warm marshmallow that never melts.

“Steve should be back from the shelter soon,” Bruce rumbles, not realizing Tony’d fallen asleep. It’s okay; he likes the reverberations of Bruce’s deep voice almost as much as he likes sleeping across Bruce’s thick body.

“Yeah?” Tony yawns and moves so he can see Bruce better, then bites back a chuckle at the straggly, cottony remnants plastered across Bruce’s chin. He reaches and tugs a thread, signaling Bruce to rub the ticklish threads away. “What time did he say?”

Bruce swirls the dregs in his cocoa mug and glances at the clock on the far wall. “He said 7pm or so, but it’s six-forty now. I doubt he’ll be much longer.”

“Good.” Tony smirks at the angry growl from Bruce’s stomach. “You need to eat.”

“I ate nearly two hours ago, Tony.”

“Not enough.” He pats Bruce’s belly and grabs the man’s mug as he rolls up. “I know you’re waiting for a proper meal with the three of us, but there’s no guarantee the leftovers Steve’s bringing back will be enough.”

Bruce makes a face, and misses Tony’s flirty grin as he heads for the side kitchen. “I’m not that big of a glutton.”

“No, of course not,” Tony calls back. He chops some vegetables and quickly preps a few slices of meat and cheese. “But you do need more to sustain your body. And that’s not gluttony; that’s physics.”

“Physics,” Bruce chuckles as Tony comes back with a tray filled with lunchmeat, cheeses, vegetables and fruits. He grabs a few crackers and adds cheese. “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

“Oh, now you’re using Princess Bride against me? Jerk. For that, I’m holding your cocoa hostage.”

“Aww.”

Tony snorts at the sad little hum in Bruce’s throat. “Fine, fine. You win,” he says, handing Bruce the mug. “Not like I had much leverage with those Santa bedroom eyes. Which reminds me - thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For filling in as Santa at the last minute for the annual Maria Stark Foundation Christmas party. With Tom out sick, all those kids from Children’s Village would’ve been out of luck.”

Bruce shrugs shyly, and hides his smile deep in his mug; Tony catches it anyway, and it warms him as much as the cocoa. “I’m glad I could help this year. A lot of organizations really look forward to us helping out this time of year. You have the Foundation, Steve volunteers for homeless vets…I should get involved more often.”

“You do.” Tony’s hand is gentle as he squeezes Bruce’s arm. “You might not like the spotlight, but you do a lot for the local schools. I’ve seen it.”

Nodding, Bruce rolls his mug in his hands then reaches for some crackers with salami. “Maybe. But I also miss the everyday involvement. I miss…”

“You miss teaching college students,” Tony realizes. “You miss being in the classroom, with googly-eyed freshmen, or seniors who think they’ll be the next great Hawking. Or you.”

“Heh. Yeah. Although,” Bruce says, popping a grape in his mouth. “Maybe a little less like me and more like the next Jane Foster.”

“You’re stable, Bruce,” Tony began, knowing Bruce’s hesitation and the reason behind it. “You haven’t had an unscheduled hulk-out in a couple years, and I think the heavier you is better at controlling your emotions.”

“Mm.” He takes meat and cheese and crackers and piles them high, like a Scooby-Doo sandwich. “Insurance risk. Liability to the students. No way would any college take me on as an adjunct, Tony. I can’t…” he sighs. “I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“We’ll see about that.” Tony has the look in his eye that brooks no argument, for neither man nor space alien and Bruce knows continuing would be pointless.

“Just don’t strongarm anyone, Tony,” Bruce says, gobbling down his meat and cheese tower. “If it happens, it happens. If not, no worries.”

Tony opens his mouth to retort, but not before they hear the elevator ding, heralding their “third.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Steve chimes, and his arms are full of bags and treats from the luncheon with the veterans. Even Bruce can’t believe he can carry it all. “Tidings and gifts from Santa, to my best guys.”

Tony is laughing, and immediately jumps up to try and see exactly what Steve brought. “Nothing doing,” Steve says, tearing the bag away from him. “I’ll fix your plates. You two wait it out on the couch. I’ve already made you wait long enough for dinner; let this be my treat to you.”

“Well, heck yeah,” Tony says, grinning. He’s rubbing his hands like an eager kid. “Bring out the grub, Cap. I’ve been keeping Brucie occupied for the past thirty minutes, but you know snacks aren’t enough for our big guy.”

“Hush,” Bruce teases. “But,” he begins, louder. “Please tell me the vets had enough to eat.”

“Oh, there was plenty. More than enough.” Steve grabs a few plates from the cupboards and digs into the bag to pile on the food. “Myrna Biggs overestimates every year, and everyone chips in extra when they know I’m coming. I’m actually pretty full from eating a ‘bite’ from everyone’s dishes.” He adds a few final touches to the plates, adds silverware, and brings them out. “I took a lot, but everyone lugged bags of food back for their families.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at how high Steve piles his plate with food, but he knows he can (and will) eat most if not all. Not to mention seconds and possibly thirds, if Steve has any say.

Tony takes a few bites from his plate and curls back into the couch while Steve settles into Bruce’s other side, shooting him a corn-fed, All-American smile. Bruce smiles shyly back and nods, tucking into his food with even more gusto; it’s not just the food that burns contentment in his belly. 

Tony sighs, breaking the silence in the room. “They have enough to meet their budget this year?”

“Mostly.” Steve grabs a carrot from the crudite tray and munches pensively. “They want to branch out with permanent residences but it’s hard finding zoned areas willing to put up permanent housing for homeless people.”

“I’ll talk to Pepper. She may know someone currently on the zoning commission who can help.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

They eat in silence for a little while, content to eat and drink by the fireplace; Bruce barely notices when Steve and Tony trade out his plates for new filled ones (along with new refills on cocoa); he’s in the mental zone, smiling at the memories of their early morning gift exchange (some of which might just be used, post-dinner). His mind also fills with his fellow Avengers, wondering how they were this year. Wondering if their Christmas days had been equally content. He worries about Natasha, on assignment, although Clint had made her promise to wrap things up Christmas day, to join his family. And Rhodey - he thinks of Rhodey, and how lonely it might be for soldiers to be far from home, over the holidays.

When Bruce finally notices his belt digging into his soft belly, he returns to his surroundings, and lets out a soft sigh. He blinks, catching smiles on both Steve and Tony’s faces, and notices Steve’s reddening ears.

“What?” Bruce loosens his belt; it’s nothing they haven’t seen before, after all.

When Tony pats Bruce’s jiggly stomach, he burps in a cupped fist. “And he didn’t even break a sweat. That’s some good eatin’ there, Banner.”

He looks down at his plate, but only sees one in front of him, wiped clean. “Really? I didn’t notice–?”

“Let’s just say there were more plates exchanged, piled high with food. And that we won’t have as many leftovers this week.”

Tony’s grin makes the tips of Steve’s ears darken.

Bruce snorts and sits back in the couch, suddenly feeling the weight of the food he’d eaten shift in his belly. “I am pretty full.”

Steve’s hand gently curves around Bruce’s belly. “There’s, uh,” he stutters. “There’s still dessert. You haven’t had dessert yet.”

“I think I’m too full for dessert.”

Tony laughs. “Brucie bear. Hon’. He didn’t mean that kind of dessert.”

“Oh– _ohhhh_.”

“Although,” Steve murmurs. His lips are deceptively close to Bruce’s ear, and Bruce feels his own face reddening. “We could bring some up with us.”

“Y-yeah, we could.” Bruce bites his bottom lip and catches Tony’s wicked grin. “Wouldn’t mind that either.”

“Steve,” Tony says, “I think we need to give my Christmas gift a test run.”

“Mm,” Steve answers. He gently nibbles Bruce’s ear, and Bruce rumbles low in his throat. “Definitely” He practically hauls Bruce to his feet and Bruce squawks - he’s almost too full, as his food sloshes around his abdomen. But Steve slings Bruce’s arm around his neck, and hoists him forward. Bruce has to scramble to make sure his pants don’t fall, although…to be fair, they wouldn’t be on long.

“Guess that means I’m grabbin’ the dessert,” Tony grumbles, but honestly? He’s not too put out as he finds the pies and the whipped cream. His mind carefully returns to his conversation with Bruce, before Steve’s return, and the idea of calling a few favors from his NYU buddies came to mind. Online courses were all the rage these days; if the department set it up, Bruce could very well teach from home.

Tony nods and grabs a few plates while carrying the desserts to their room. For now, though, he had other promising matters. And he was ready to dive into his favorite marshmallow man.


	46. The One Where Bruce Struggles with Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous asked: Does Bruce ever have really bad days? Days where he just can't find it in him to get out of bed? How do the guys react if/when this happens?_
> 
> **Those days are fortunately few and far between - he’s done much better since Steve and Tony helped him through the difficulties of his mother’s passing, but he still has a few dark days here and there. Every once in a while.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw: Depression and depressive symptoms.**

***

There wasn’t really a conscious trigger, this time. Maybe the trigger had been in a dream, or a memory flash, or…or something from the Other Guy. Or it might’ve been an anniversary he’d forgotten, or something frustratingly small. Maybe it was something on TV, even. Something that had nothing to do with him. Or everything to do with him. In any case, he just didn’t know.

He woke up at 4am, feeling as if someone’d taken a pair of tin snips to his limbic system and severed key nerve endings. He felt…blank. Neither good, nor bad, nor anything really. But this was the end result of the not-feeling so it must have been building for a while, and he’d missed it. He’d been Alice falling down the rabbit hole without realizing he’d been falling, until he’d hit…something. But it was dark in the hole. So very dark. And he couldn’t…he didn’t know where he was. Who he was. And he wasn’t sure if that knowledge really mattered.

He stared out the window over Steve’s broad back, watching through the near opaque shades as the colors of the sky turned from indigo to greyish red, to a duller, angrier rose.

Tony yawned and Bruce blinked at him. “Damn. It’s already 7:30…Steve not back from his run?”

Bruce blinked again. He’d missed Steve leaving. How, he had no idea; honestly, the man’d been right in front of him. He’d neither felt nor seen Steve leave. He hadn’t noticed he time slipping away. “Guess not.”

“No worries, then.” Tony yawned again and slapped Bruce’s thigh. “You’re usually up before I am. Surprised you weren’t up making breakfast.”

“I’m not really hungry right now.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he’d said the wrong thing. Tony’s gaze sharpened as his eyes roved over his face. “You okay?”

He opened his mouth but the words took a few seconds to tumble out. He felt far too sluggish. Far more than normal. “Mm. Not really. Might be coming down with something.”

Again, wrong thing to say. Tony looked him over carefully. “Bruce. You don’t get sick. Lemme call Dr. Cho. I’ll get Steve and–”

Bruce grabbed Tony’s arm before the other man leapt up and began setting events in motion he really didn’t want. “No, don’t.”

He must’ve had his hand on Tony’s for too long. Apparently his brain wasn’t working as fast as he would’ve liked either, and Tony softly tugged loose. “I’ll make an omelet for you,” he murmured, squeezing Bruce’s hand. “I can at least do that much. And boil water for some tea.” 

Not knowing what else to say, he nodded and let Tony leave.

He was actually pretty grateful for the quiet, once Tony left. He could stare at the window in peace. Occasionally his mind stabbed him with red hot images of things the Other Guy had done, or memories of random, missed opportunities caused a jolt through his limbs like an electrocution. But mostly Bruce's mind aimlessly tumbled. He kept thinking back through the past month or two, trying to figure out what he missed. Maybe he had been drifting. Some days had felt better than others, he supposed, but he wasn’t sure when he’d tipped over the edge this time.

“Eat,” Tony commanded, and Bruce felt, rather than saw, the cold tines of the fork pressed against his lips. He frowned and half-glared at Tony, but his heart wasn’t in it as he chewed. For Tony’s sake. “Again,” Tony said, and Bruce sighed as he took the fork from him and choked it down. It probably was good, but his senses felt too far off to taste anything.

“Hey, Bruce,” he heard. Steve. Bruce was prone again, somehow, and the plate was gone. Had he fallen back asleep–?

“Tony and me, we’re gonna cuddle with you today. That all right?”

He almost frowned; of course they could, that was their right, they could do whatever they wanted to do.

“If you want,” Bruce heard himself say. He couldn’t muster a shrug.

“Okay,” he heard behind him. Tony.

The bed shifted behind Bruce, and he felt Tony’s arms snake as far as they could under and around his huge body, attempting to hug him close. And as a surprise, Steve smiled as he came right up to Bruce's face, nearly nose-to-nose. And he was talking. Bruce heard snippets, really. But they were good things, moments he and Steve shared over the course of their relationship. A few minutes - hours? - later, Tony’d take Steve’s place, and he’d talk about their own personal moments. Every once in a while Bruce caught something funny and had to smile.Tony definitely had that charm.

Little by little, throughout the day, Bruce felt himself tuning in more to what his boyfriends were saying, and less to the thoughts and the darkness in his head. Even enough so that he found himself chuckling at a word or two Tony or Steve said. It almost seemed he’d blink his eyes and they’d exchange places. And when they changed, he’d see a new part of them he’d never noticed before, How Steve’s eyes had flecks of green in them. How Tony’s eyes were a lighter brown in the sunlight, and slightly bloodshot because no, he didn’t sleep enough - that’s what Steve and he kept saying…

He blinked again, and the sky became blue, to golden red, to fire. To sparkled indigo. And he was suddenly laughing out loud at something Steve had said, and he felt the tug of Tony’s hands squeezing him tight. And he remembered, he remembered that he could be happy. He didn’t need to fear that he wouldn’t be happy again. He remembered they loved him. That they would not leave him in his darkest times. That he was important.

He sniffed, realizing tears were hitting his pillow, and Tony’s dark eyes, glittering like agate in the dimmed room, filled up too. Steve’s strong hands were almost too tight, but Bruce loved that. He wanted that. He needed it, to feel again.

He snuffled and a tear rolled down his nose; Tony kissed it, and Bruce hiccuped through a few sobs.

“T-thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, parting Bruce’s hair with his breath.

“Love you, Big Guy,” Tony murmured while taking a rough thumb down Bruce’s tear-stained face.

And when he awoke the following day, after sleeping through the night, he felt almost back to center. Maybe not a hundred percent, because he rarely felt that. But he felt _something_ again. Felt more like himself. And with his two lovers helping him through, he could see through the storm, and find the calm within it.


	47. The One Where Steve Leaves on an Extended Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: How do the guys react when one of them has to go on a mission?  
> **  
>   
> 
> _It depends on how long it is. The longer it is, the less they like it…_

"Thirty _weeks_?” Tony squawked, and Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “Are you out of your _mind_?” **  
**

“It does seem a little excessive, even by Fury’s standards,” Bruce murmured. “Are you sure it has to be that long?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that mimicked all of their frustrations combined. “Or longer,” he sighed heavily. “Worse, it’ll be a total communications blackout. So trust me, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Tony furiously paced the floor while Bruce let out a rumbling sigh. “It sounds as if you have little choice in the matter,” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “Who’s going with you? I know I’m semi-retired, but maybe I can lend a hand.” Tony glanced up, apparently in agreement.

“It’s a stealth mission, covert ops.” Steve looked a little pained and sheepish as he said the words, and Tony was on him like a rabid hound.

“Who's with you, Steve?”

Steve switched his feet like a kid with a hand caught in a cookie jar. “Me, Natasha and… Bucky.” Tony groaned loudly and glared at the ceiling.  “Tony, There’s no one else who can do this. We’re the only ones trained for the Ukraine, and–”

“ _No_ ,” Tony barked, and Bruce found himself stumbling back at the rage wafting from Tony’s stance. “The Red Menace, T-1000 and you, on an eight month mission? I forbid it.”

“ _Forbi_ –are you serious? Tony, I’m not one of your robots you can command on a dime. And since this is a matter of national security, you don’t have a say. And you have no reason to be jealous.”

Tony folded his arms. “Oh, don’t I? I think both of us should have a say. Right, Bruce?”

Bruce frowned as they suddenly turned to him. He hated when they used him as the deciding vote in their arguments. “Granted,” he began. “I don’t think either Tony or I like the idea of being without you for eight months.” Tony waved his hand curtly, in a sort of, “see, I’m right” way.

“But,” Bruce conceded, holding up a hand. “We’re not all being completely honest here, are we?” He caught Tony’s glare and matched it, before Tony dropped his gaze and made a face at the floor. “If we’re…if I’m being 100% honest, I do feel a little threatened that you’re leaving with Bucky and Nat. I think it’s the same feeling either of you would feel if I were on some kind of science expedition with Betty Ross.”

Steve and Tony simultaneously grunted, and Bruce bit back a chuckle.

"I trust you, and I know deep inside Tony trusts you. But we don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Especially for eight months with no communication,” Tony grumbled. His brow eased back. “I mean, the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other has been four weeks, right? And those were emergency meetings I had in Japan. But at least I Skyped you guys every night.” He began chewing his thumbnail. “So what’s gonna take you away from us for that long, huh? Can you at least tell us what’s going on?”

“It’s not good,” Steve sighed. “The intel we have is pointing to a few rogue scientists who’ve gotten hold of some of the super serum, and they found one of the underground labs Bucky’d been imprisoned in.”

“Ouch.”

Bruce felt a few cold chills, but cleared his throat. “Are they experimenting on people again?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Steve said. He shook his head and paced lightly. “We’re not officially sanctioned to do it, and we haven’t received permission from the Russians. So yeah. We’ve gotta sneak our way in.”

“Okay…I really don’t like it now. But thank you for telling us the stakes. At least we know.”

“Same,” Tony grunted. He traced an invisible line on the floor with his shoe. “So when’re you headed out?”

“As soon as Natasha can secure our passports. Probably the day after tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Well,” Bruce said softly, “that gives us a little time at least, right? We should make the most of what we have.”

Although they tried ignoring the clock, time overtook them faster than expected. And two days later, true to her word, Natasha came by with the passports right as Steve packed his last bag. “I know you can’t really contact us, but…”

“I’ll do what I can,” Steve said, kissing Bruce’s knuckles. “If any opportunities come up, Porkpie, you be the first I’ll call.”

“I assume you meant that ‘you’ in a universal sense,” Tony groused. Bruce glanced at Tony, noting how wet the other man’s lashes were. But he wouldn’t bring attention to it, not when his were just as wet.

“Of course I do, you know that. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

“And don’t get hurt, or we’ll kick your ass.”

“You got it,” Steve said, grinning. “And take care of this one for me, Tony,” he said, giving Bruce a long hug. “Don’t let him skip meals.”

“Oh, you know I won’t. I’d catch hell from you if he missed just one.”

“Steve,” Bruce began, voice hitching. He couldn’t help his emotions from spilling over, and he didn’t like it. “Please be careful. I mean it.”

“I–”

They all heard a gentle throat clearing. “Sorry, boys,” Natasha said. Her voice was quiet, but firm. “But we need to leave now. Our connections are timed to a T, and we need to meet up with Bucky at the air strip.”

“Okay, Nat,” Steve said. His eyes were moist as he enveloped Bruce and Tony in a huge hug. Well, all of Tony and some of Bruce, anyway. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered to them.

“Same,” Tony said.

“But you have to.” Bruce’s voice cracked. “So go. Now. Before we change our minds and endanger the planet.”

Steve nodded firmly and grabbed his duffle without turning back.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Natasha told them. “I won’t bring him back broken.”

“You better not,” Bruce said. And he wasn’t joking.

***

Tony and Bruce managed okay, in the beginning.  

They kept busy by holing themselves up in the work labs. Tony’d tell jokes and Bruce would laugh, and they’d do marathon science like they used to, before they were a threesome. But they couldn’t pretend so well at night, when the bed seemed so big and cold. Tony would always curl up on Bruce’s back, but Bruce missed seeing Steve’s broad shoulders, and hearing Steve’s contented sighs. He missed the teasing he’d get right before bed, and he missed how flirty Steve acted over Bruce’s larger body.

“I know I’m not him,” Tony whispered one night, and Bruce jumped a little; they were both wide awake and thinking where was Steve in the world - and what was he doing now?  

“But we can pretend for a while, right?”

“Sure. We can try.”

And Tony played with Bruce’s tummy, praised him for being so round and eating extra just for him. Tony even nibbled Bruce in all the right places and it felt real and lovely but still…it wasn’t Steve. And after the two months or so they simply agreed to be each other instead of pretending Steve was there because…no. It honestly wasn’t the same.

The third month was worse, and Bruce found himself getting short-tempered. Usually Bruce acted as mediator between the three of them, but neither Bruce nor Tony realized how much Steve balanced them, too.

By the middle of the fourth month Bruce and Tony’s, communication had completely broken down, and they had a huge fight over dishes. Or protons. Or something. And it was bad enough Bruce nearly hulked out, and Tony opted to sleep on the couch while nipping at a bottle of Jameson’s all night long.

Their poor dog, Lily, whimpered between them, unsure of who to comfort first.

The morning after continued the discomfort, since neither made eye contact (Tony was too hungover, and Bruce was still too angry).

“I’m taking Lily for a walk,” Bruce finally spat, after an hour of moody silence.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Bruce opened his mouth to retort but let it go. Yes, he could’ve apologized, but he was still too tired and upset. After all, Tony'd been on the wagon for some time now, so this hungover shtick had been the last straw in his mind.

He walked Lily for fifteen minutes which left him mad _and_ exhausted, so he called an Uber and had the driver drop him off at the nearest dog park where he could sit and watch Lily play, because fuck Tony and his asinine accusations of–

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

Bruce took his eyes from Lily cozying up to a Labrador and checked his text messages.

_**TS: Where the fuck r u?** _

“Like you care,” Bruce growled. He didn’t text what he felt, but his response was still fairly passive aggressive.

_**BB: Out. Why?** _

_**TS: Quit acting like a stubborn ass and come home** _

“Oh, don’t even,” Bruce muttered. He stabbed the phone with his chubby digits. “As…if…you…care,” he growled while texting the same. It felt good to send it, but in retrospect he knew it was petty.

_**TS: Goddamn it you want me to say I’m sorry then fine I’m fucking sorry** _

“No, you’re not,” Bruce snorted at the phone. But when he glanced up and saw how heavily Lily panted, he frowned. She was tired. No matter how angry he was, he couldn’t take it out on her.

_**BB: Back in an hour** _

_**TS: Good** _

Bruce switched off the phone. He missed the old days when he could slam a phone’s receiver in someone’s ear.

A few moments later, when he’d just crawled into the Uber with Lily, his phone buzzed again. “Oh for the love of–now he’s just pissing me off.”

“Sir?”

Bruce made a face at the driver. “Forget it, it’s nothing. I’m still headed for Stark tower.” _No idea why_ , he thought darkly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He _told_ Tony he’d be there, and he would be, if he–

“Oh…”

“Anything wrong?”

“Uh, no, no…yes. Maybe.” Lily, feeling Bruce’s tension, began squirming in his arms. He tightened his grip and concentrated on her in his hands. “It’s just that, do you know any shortcuts to get over there? I need to get to Stark Tower as soon as possible. I’ll pay you extra.”

“I’ll try,” the driver said, and Bruce knew he would. He rubbed his phone raw in his hands, unable to take his mind off Tony’s last message.

**_TS: It’s Steve hurry_ **

***

Rushing really wasn’t an option anymore. Not necessarily due to his size; his heart rate still carried a threshold that threatened a certain nine-foot gamma green monster's arrival. So Bruce rushed as fast as he dared, with Lily in his arms, and it took almost the full hour even without traffic. He didn’t dare look at his phone while the taxi weaved between the cars, and fortunately Lily kept him in a calm state by constantly licking his hands and centering him. And he couldn’t worry; what could he honestly do now, outside of the tower? And even in the tower, what could they really do? Steve was thousands of miles away. Getting mad and hulking out would solve absolutely nothing.

Didn’t mean the nervousness wasn’t eating a hole through his esophagus, though.

“Tony,” Bruce wheezed, as soon as he rushed the door. Tony was immediately there to meet him while Bruce transferred Lily to Tony's arms. “What? What is it? What’s wrong with Steve?”

“What?” Tony blinked, and did a double take at the dog before gently lowering her to the floor. Lily immediately did a beeline towards her water dish. “Didn’t you read my texts?”

Bruce shook his head while planting his hands on his knees and gulping lungfuls of air. “Only the one. Godammit, what’s wrong? Just tell me!”

“Shh, hush, babe. Don’t work yourself up. You’re getting a little green around the edges.” Tony took Bruce’s hand, as if their arguments had been forgotten.

He lead Bruce to the couch then went to the kitchen, returning with a few bottles of water and a fruit tray filled with Bruce’s favorite snacks. Bruce crumpled like a deflating beach ball while Tony explained. “I really am sorry for earlier. I acted like an ass all morning. I should’ve cooled off last night and not tried to rely on the bottle - again.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, grabbing an apple. He closed his eyes. When had an apple ever tasted this good–? “And I get that you’re trying to calm me down,” he said, mouth full. “But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I may hulk out anyway.”

“It would’ve saved you a lot of trouble if you’d read my other texts, Brucie.”

“Tony,” Bruce warned. He grabbed a handful of cheese cubes and crammed them in his mouth. “You’ve got five seconds before I pound you with a green fist.”

“Steve’s not hurt. He’s not injured, he’s not broken or lost or in pain.”

“Then what–”

“Natasha secured a line for us. He’s calling us in about–” he checked his watch  “–five minutes.”

Bruce looked at him with what had to’ve been the biggest expression of relief in his life, even with his mouth full. “Really?”

“Really. That’s all it is. Now chew and eat up, before Steve thinks I’m starving you.”

“Oh, dear god,” Bruce sighed. “I thought…”

“I know, I know. But yeah. I explained it all, if you’d–”

“–read your texts,” Bruce finished. He swallowed what was left in his mouth and reached for an orange slice. “Fine. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Tony gave him a soft side-hug, and stole the orange slice from him. “So we’re both sorry,” he muttered, popping the food in his mouth.

“You can say that again,” Bruce said. Then he grabbed a handful of grapes while they waited for Steve’s call.

***

“Estonia–?” Tony shook his head. “We didn’t hear about any explosions.”

 _“Good. You weren’t supposed to.”_ Steve's picture rippled slightly, even with Jarvis’ excellent reception. Bruce figured it was due to the secure line. “ _But despite the coup, we’ve made a few connections - we’re almost ready to move in.”_

Steve didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to; from what Steve said it sounded like they’d poked a hornet’s nest, and the next part would be the roughest. Which maybe, was one reason Natasha worked so hard to arrange this one chance to talk, before things went ass over teacups.

 _“I know this is a special call and all,”_ Steve said softly. _“But you’re both looking rough. Have you been sleeping enough? Eating enough?”_

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ _Guys_ …”

Tony tugged his left ear. “Okay, no. We haven’t. And we're coming off of a huge fight, if you want total honesty.” He couldn’t mask his pained expression. “Yes. It was totally my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bruce disagreed. “We both handled it poorly. We’re both…”

“Yeah. We’re…ah. We’re not handling you gone very well. At all.” And Bruce heard the small hitch in Tony’s sigh, surprised with how much he was revealing. “Sorry, Steve.”

“We’re trying, we are,” Bruce added. “But we need you. We miss you. Please come home soon, okay? Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid, but come home soon.”

Steve wiped his damp eyes with a thumb. _“Sooner than you know, I will be.”_

 _“Steve, wrap it up,”_ they heard in the background. “ _Someone’s trying to piggyback off the signal._ ”

“Just don’t promise us a last dance, you lunkhead.”

Steve choked back a laugh. “That’s below the belt, Tony.”

“I’ll tell you what else is below the belt–”

Bruce groaned. “Aaand on that note,” he interrupted. “Steve. We love you. Be safe.”

_“I will.  Take care, okay? And don’t–”_

The signal blinked out.

“J–?”

“The transmission was cut from the source, sirs. It seemed a natural occurrence, with no interferences.”

“In other words, either Bucky or Nat yanked the plug. Figures.”

“The signal was probably being traced. They didn’t have any choice, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know…I know.”

Tony made a face and shook his head. “We should at least keep to the promise we made, and treat ourselves better. No good if we’re half dead before he gets back.”

“True.”

“C’mon. I’ll order in, whatever you want. Let’s watch a movie, take our minds off it.”

“Netflix and chill, huh?”

Tony’s smirk deepened. “You read my mind.”

***

The phone call had helped. It got them through the next month or so, although they were heavily on edge, and on alert. Bruce scoured the headlines for clues to Steve’s whereabouts, and Tony kept up with his business contacts in the Ukraine, to see if any unusual business transactions had been done in his name (could be Steve getting a message out, after all). Of course it was all pointless, even though Steve’s call galvanized them, like a call to battle. And even if they were going in circles, it was something, they hoped, that could carry them until his next communication.

At the start of the seventh month, Jarvis’ beacon emitted a soft ping at 3:45 in the morning. It was an annoying noise, but not so loud that it would frighten anyone. Just loud enough to irk Tony.

“J,” Tony grunted, half-asleep. Bruce was still under, and Tony wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. He didn’t want to lose his extra large pillow, or the extra layer of warmth.  

“Playback, soft mode.”

“Mission complete,” Jarvis relayed quietly. “Breakfast tomorrow, 7am sharp.”

“Huhn?”

None of it made sense. Not at such an ungodly hour.

“The sender was Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said in his soft tone, “using an old Morse code hybrid that I easily–”

“Wait, _what_?”

Tony’s sudden shout caused Bruce to stir. “Tones…Tones. It’s ok. 3am. No boogiemen. No bad guys.”

“No, no–Bruce, wake up! Steve’s comin’ home.”

“Wha–?”

Bruce suddenly scrambled to sit up, and Tony took a half second to take in his adorable, sleep-mussed, five-o’clock shadowed chubby face before tugging Bruce awake. “Jarvis said he’s comin’ home and he’ll be here by 7. Three hours from now.”

“What?” Bruce ran a hand through his hair as he stumbled after Tony, who was beelining for the shower. “Shit, that…that’s great news. He’s early.”

“Right. Which means we’ve got less than three hours to wrap up what we’ve got cookin’.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Tony repeated, before shoving Bruce into the shower.

***

At 6:59, Eastern Standard Time, a truly exhausted, but anxious Captain Rogers dropped his heavy duffle, and peered around his empty castle. “Honeys?” He called cautiously. “I’m home…anyone around?”

He frowned; it was entirely too quiet. He half-wondered if Tony got his message in time, but then he realized he’d sent the adapted morse code to one of Jarvis’ servers and knew yes, Tony’d get it. So where were they…?

“Jarvis? Did the guys leave?”

“No, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said smoothly. “However, what they’re working on what appears to be a top secret project.”

Steve made a face. “For who?” Fury hadn’t told him anything about a secret project…

“For you, apparently.”

A small smile began curving around Steve’s lips. “For me, huh? An’ they’re making me wait for it? Without welcoming me at the door?”

“It seems rather likely, yes.”

“Those two…” he huffed and put his hands on his hips. “Well, it better be a damn good surprise. I don’t feel like waiting.”

There was a brief pause before Jarvis spoke again. “The Sirs are requesting your presence in their main lab.”

Steve snorted. “Drama queens…okay. Fine, I’ll meet ‘em halfway.”

But honestly, he wasn’t that mad. He knew whatever Tony and Bruce cooked up would be good, and worth waiting for - they just needed to hurry the hell up with it.

“Hello?”

Even so, the hallways to the lab usually weren’t this…quiet. When he finally made it to the front door he could hear the faint sounds of…some kind of familiar music, something he didn’t think Tony or even Bruce would listen to.  But the lab was too dark to see anything. Were the lights out?

“Jarvis–?”

“One moment, Captain…” Steve heard a click, and the door opened for him automatically. The music came at him with gentle force, and he had to smile when he recognized the tune. Okay, truthfully his two went overboard, but sometimes overboard was nice.

“Glenn Miller’s a nice touch, boys,” he spoke to the dim room. The lights came up, and his heart swelled at the decor. It looked pretty swank, similar to a small 40s dance hall with a wooden floor and sound stage. And somehow they’d snuck a wooden bar into the lab, as well as a decorated dinner table. The table had three place settings, with a candlelit centerpiece surrounded by breakfast rolls, butter, and jam. 

“Does it meet to your satisfaction, Captain Rogers?”

Steve smirked and glanced at the ceiling. “It’s nice, Jarvis, but it’s missing my boys. The decor’s nothing without ‘em.”

“Of course.”

It took a beat, but Tony wandered out first wearing what could only be described as the best pinstripe suit 1940s money could buy.

“Well?” Tony said, spinning around. “I opted for neutral, but I had to go with some spats.” He wiggled his feet. “They seemed to make it work. What’cha think?” Steve held back a chuckle; spats weren’t actually in fashion in his day, but they worked for Tony. As most suits did. 

“I  also contemplated a zoot suit. They had those back in your day, didn’t they?”

Steve laughed, grabbed Tony, and swung him around in time to the music. “You would’ve looked all right. Bet you’d’ve made a ducky shincracker back in the day, too.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Steve dipped him quickly and softly kissed his temple. “You look gorgeous, gorgeous. Missed you so damn much.”

“You too.” Tony briefly ruffled his finger through Steve’s hair. “You don’t know how much.”

Steve brought Tony back up and held him tightly as they briefly danced cheek-to-cheek. “Where’s our better third?”

“Not coming out,” Bruce called out, after having eavesdropped on their conversation. His voice carried from the back room. “I look ridiculous.”

“Bruce,” Tony sighed. He broke from Steve’s dance, but kept holding his hand. “I told you, you look fine. Like a perfect peach.”

“I look like Al Capone.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Steve interrupted, laughing a little. “I’m sure you look aces.”

“No, I don’t.”

Tony growled low and broke from Steve while holding up a finger.  “One sec, okay?”

“Don’t take too long. Either of you!”

Steve shook his head and chuckled. He’d missed them. He’d missed _all_ of it. And…yeah. This was a good way to return, without tears or apologies or choked words - he could laugh and celebrate at the same time, and his heart would stay full. 

Sighing, he sat at the table and grabbed a bagel, and uncovered some butter in a dish to slap on the bread.

“Then don’t wear it,” he heard Tony hiss. “Take off the jacket, swap ties, keep the suspend…oh. _Yeah_.”

“Should I roll up my sleeves?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. And this. Wear this hat.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. “

“Tony…”

“I swear to God, Bruce, if you don’t start walkin’ I’ll shove you out naked.”

“All right, all right. It’s just…”

“Babe, you look delicious. I mean it.”

“I guess I’ll trust your judgment.”

“Hurry up,” Steve called with his mouth full. “I’m starving for more than just bread. You’ll be lucky if…”

His voice trailed when Bruce finally made his entrance. Sure, he was used to seeing Tony in suits, and the man naturally looked good anyway. But Bruce, he looked…well, he looked just like Tony said. Deliciously dolled up in his own special way. And Steve couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“See, I told you–”

“Bruce. Babe. Calm down.” Tony met Steve’s eye with a smile. “You look good, m’man.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve half-stuttered. He swallowed the bagel in his mouth and put the rest on his plate. “Here, c’mere, muffin.”

Bruce shuffled up slowly, but before he got halfway Steve held Bruce at arm’s length, to get a better view: Suspenders, checkered bow-tie, wide-leg khaki pants, saddle shoes and a cocky little newsboy cap. Steve’s smile widened - even Bruce’s glasses were the typical wireframes of the 40s. “Look at’cha,” he murmured. “Both of you, all done up for me.”

Bruce shrugged and pulled at his bow-tie. “It feels pretty costumey to me, but if you like it–”

“Oh, I do, muffin. I _do_.” He kissed Bruce tenderly on the lips, then moved him right next to Tony. “You both would’ve fit right in, back in the day. And seriously, Bruce…this look? It suits you.”

A small curve licked the corners of Bruce’s lips. “You do realize,” Bruce murmured, “that tonight’s your night, right? Whatever you want, whatever we can give you. But y’know. We don’t have to go with these get-ups.”

“Oh, nuh, uh,” Steve grunted. “Definitely wear that. Both of you,” he said, looking at Tony too. “The music is a bit overkill, but I like the mood. And the table. And…of course. The company.”

The three of them found a way to dance the morning away, and Tony’s catered breakfast of French foods from their favorite place down the street was the perfect capper. The afternoon and well into the evening became all Steve’s, as he reaquainted himself with their bodies while feeding Bruce until he was ready to pop.

Steve placed himself, Tony, and Bruce on the inactive list for a good two weeks, and Fury understood - not that he liked it, but he understood. Fury also promised never to put Steve on such a long detail again, because he was “sick of hearin’ his mopey ass on the comms.” Regardless, though, it had been the longest they’d ever been without each other. And they vowed never to be that long without one another’s company again.


	48. The One Where the Boys go to the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: Do the guys ever go swimming at the beach or anything? Does Bruce get subconscious being more exposed then usual (wearing a bathing suit) out in public?**
> 
> _It’s hot in the summer, but Tony isn’t a fan of public beaches (well public anything, really). They do compromise by going to private resorts or off to the Keys (Tony has some private land, while resorts have “the works”). But even then, Bruce occasionally gets a bit subconscious._

“No, of course you don’t have to lay out,” Tony told him. He grabbed a beach towel and an extra layer of sunscreen, while rooting around for his favorite shades. “But…y’know, Spangles thought it might’ve been nice for a change, to feel the sand between our toes and all that pedestrian stuff–ah.” He grabbed one of the several pairs he’d brought (Bruce had no idea how he told all his sunglasses apart) and perched the glasses on the edge of his nose.

Bruce hid a small smirk. “You know I don’t like the heat.”

Tony’s eyebrow rose a millimeter and he shot Bruce a ‘Risky Business’ type glare. “You don’t have to fudge the numbers with me, Brucie.”

“I--what? What does that even mea--”

“It’s 81 degrees outside,” Tony interrupted. “It’s not like it’s too hot for you, or anyone else. It’s a perfect day. It’s not even the weekend, so it’s not crowded. Plus, it’s a private resort where only the rich and famous can afford it. The staff and us are pretty much the only ones in this place, except for a few other elites who have their own problems to worry about. So. I know why you don’t wanna go out.” He softly thumped Bruce’s forehead with a finger. “I know it’s not the heat or any one of the other millions of other excuses in your pretty little head.” 

Steve stuck his head in the bedroom, almost on cue, and Bruce smirked at the sunscreen stripe down Steve’s nose.

“What’s the hold up?”

Tony glared at Bruce, and played his trump card. “Also, you said you’d play nice with Dr. Cho. And she said you needed vitamin D for your pale ass.”

Bruce moaned at him. “All right, all _right._ Fine. I’m coming.”

Steve frowned. “You weren’t going out?”

Bruce made a face and began gathering his beach attire. “No, I am.” He sighed and pulled his shirt over his head. “I just…ah. I needed a reminder.”

***

But Tony was right; he sort of wanted to hide. The last time he’d gone outside the paparazzi’d had a field day, and he’d caught dozens of unflattering photos of himself on the internet. Not that he cared much any more, but…they’d selected the worst ones, and paraded him around like a circus freak. Granted, he preferred fat photos over anything Hulk related, but the photos weren’t any less irritating. Tony believed if he went out more the press would normalize his size, but that still meant going out which wasn’t anything he relished. Still, to be fair, he hadn’t relished prying eyes in his “skinny” days either. 

Tony sighed, slowed in his tracks, and sidled up beside Bruce. Steve shot a cursory glance at the two of them but left them a bit of space. But he was only three or four paces ahead and could hear them just fine.

“Feeling any better?”

Bruce half-shrugged. “Sure.”

“Liar.” Tony sniffed and pulled his shades all the way to the tip of his nose, then gave the beach a once over. “Bet you could go nude out here.”

Bruce snorted. “Yeah, like anyone’d wanna see that.”

“I would,” Tony said without a beat. “Steve would, too. I’m sure of it.”

“That’s not–” Bruce stopped and fiercely rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not the point, Tony. Maybe I’m tired of being oogled. This,” he said, waving a hand around his body, “makes it that much worse. I don’t like being seen as an object. I’m tired of it.”

Tony held out his arm. forbidding either of them from stepping any further. “Bruce, wait. You do know we care about you first, right?” Bruce made a face and glared at the ground, feeling somewhat guilty at the expression of regret he knew he’d see in Tony’s eyes. “If you’re feeling bad about your size–”

Bruce gently grabbed Tony’s hand. “No, it’s not like that. I’m comfortable with myself, but I can still be tired of other people who don’t care about me - people who treat me like the Hulk, but for different reasons.” He shrugged, even as Tony’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “I could change myself, if I really wanted I suppose.”

Tony gave him a good, hard look. “Do you want to?”

Bruce stared at him a beat. “No. I like…I like having ‘more’ of me. Being soft. Enjoying food. Being pampered.” He smirked a little, and bumped Tony’s arm; Tony smirked back. “I’m used to a certain standard of spoiled living now.”

“Good.” Tony nodded firmly and tucked his arm in Bruce’s. “Because you deserve it. And,” he continued, tugging Bruce so he’d lumber forward again, “if you need more reassurance that Steve and I love you for you, we could tone down our admiration a notch.”

Bruce thought about it, but shook his head as they made their way down the beach, to where Steve had already set out the picnic basket in their little resort cabana. Chairs, as per Tony’s request, had already been set out for them, and they were only a few yards away from the lapping waves. Surely when the tide came in, the chairs would be inch-deep.

“No,” Bruce said. He squinted at the sun, and stole Tony’s shades. Tony made a delightful huffing noise, but let Bruce steal them. “Just take enough good pictures of us together, to erase the bad ones. To remind me.”

“Of how much we love you, for you?”

“Of how much you love me for me,” Bruce repeated, nodding.

“Even if we like watching you model your swim trunks?”

A small blush crept across Bruce’s cheeks. “Especially then.”

Despite being such an exclusive resort, a photog with an extremely high powered lens and really good luck caught a picture of Bruce eating a sandwhich, and it was probably the worst yet, since he’d already been in the water and his trunks hugged ever bulge and rounded curve. But as promised, there were far more good pictures than bad, even though the pictures were private. 

So in the end, Bruce stopped worrying about the magazines, and began going out of the Tower, with more confidence. And now when Bruce sees himself in magazines, he can ignore headlines while enjoying how well his outfit looked on that day.


	49. The One Where Bruce Receives Fan Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: Do Bruce and the guys ever get really cute notes, cards, or art from fans? How do they react?**
> 
> _Every once in a while, yes! As to how they react…_

***

"The Avengers"© have a huge, dedicated PR team with several subgroups, some of which open and read mail earmarked for individual Avengers. Thousands of letters go through the PR department every day where they separate the positive from the vile, and the emergencies from the mundane. And they have _just_ enough staff to make it work (although there’s yet another team just for scanning emails). 

The public relations department does have some secrets, though. Fans who actually take time to write particularly endearing fan letters, ones that catche the eye of a skimmer within the first few sentences, well...those letters fly to the top of the heap, and those letters are immediately forwarded to Steve. And really, the team doesn't mind; Steve’s the only one who really pines for snail mail these days, anyway.

Steve could tell which letters were Bruce's, since they were usually written in crayon by enthusiatic youngsters, and the team had their fair share chuckles over them. Once Bruce burst out laughing after someone taped a picture on the fridge of an incredibly inaccurate neon-green Hulk, fighting a pink Godzilla, drawn by a Miss Jamie Gonzales aged seven (because why not?). But the PR team did have their share of foul-ups too. Sometimes they accidentally forwarded mail that contained more insults than praise - mostly to Bruce - and Steve held back from sharing those, since they pretty much ended with “…but you should still lose some weight”.

But today seemed like a turning point from all Bruce’s backwards mail, and Steve entered the kitchen stifling a smile as he read through one of Bruce's latest fan letters. 

“Any juicy ones?” Tony asked, when Steve plopped a parcel of letters in his lap. He was used to Steve opening their mail before passing them on; he kind of preferred it, actually.

“Yep.” Steve tossed a few on the table that were his own, and then held up seven more. “And ‘Doctor Banner’ _definitely_ got a few.”

“What–?” Bruce looked up, half-listening. He looked adorable in the morning, Steve thought. Even more so that he’d been caught in mid-chew, and his left cheek pouched full of food, like a chipmunk. “Juicy fan mail? For me?”

Steve chuckled. “Yes, for you. And you shouldn’t be so surprised, Muffin.”

Bruce looked at the letters a little awkwardly and swallowed his food before taking another slow bite from his pancakes. The addresses were actually in pen, and not crayon. “For the Hulk, surely.”

“No, not the Hulk. For _you_.”

That caught Tony’s attention as well, and he peered over at Bruce’s stack of letters. “Ooh, Brucie has secret admirers.”

“Cut it out,” Bruce grumbled softly. But he did take one of the letters and carefully inspect it. “You read these, right, Steve? No ticking time bombs or suspicious white substances?”

Steve laughed. “Bruce, no. I promise. They’re ah…” Bruce frowned when Steve’s cheeks pinked up. “They’re kinda cute. And a couple, well. They’re borderline pornograp–”

“Gimme!” Tony grabbed Bruce’s envelopes before Steve finished the word.

“Hey! Those are mine!”

“Nope, nope,” Tony said, holding a hand against Bruce’s chest. “If they’re filthy, I have first dibs.”

“Why?”

“Just because,” Tony said, opening the first letter. “Dear Doctor Banner,” Tony began. “Blah-blah-blah- _science_ , blah-blah-blah noted works, blah-bl…” Tony trailed, and his lips began curving into a near perfect imitation of the Grinch. “Oh, ho, _ho_. I see what you mean, Steve. Ooh- _ee_ , I think I’m jealous.”

“Okay, no,” Bruce said, hastily snatching the letter from Tony’s hands. And Tony looked positively disappointed that he couldn’t keep it. “If you’re making that face, I need to know what’s in it.” Bruce adjusted his glasses and peered carefully at the purple prose. “God knows what’s going on in that devious mind of yours.”

“It’s not me, I promise,” Tony said, sharing a knowing glance with Steve. And he and Steve both began smiling like twin devils as Bruce continued reading and clearing his throat at key passages. ”Your fans are into you Brucie. _Seriously_ into you.”

“What the…?” Bruce felt his face grow hot as the words leapt off the page. It began as a simple thank you note, but then…they didn’t even know him, but they wanted to do _what_ with him - _feed_ him? Nibble his–-

“Oh, dear God...”

Tony laughed. “It’s a thing, Brucie.”

“Not only is it a thing,” Steve said, joining Bruce and Tony at the table. “But it looks like there’s some kind of society of people who love seeing you as…as you are now.”

“Fat, you mean?”

“Apparently.” Bruce snatched another letter from the table, and was amazed at how much more detail the second letter included. Enough that he let out a small squeak, which Tony pounced on. 

“Gotta read that one too,” he said, plucking it from Bruce’s scandalized fingers. “Hmmm,” he sighed, skimming through the words. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna try this.” He briefly glanced over at Bruce and bit back a chuckle. “See how he’s reacting, Steve? Our little Brucie likes it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, ya do. You’ve got that look on your face. Horrified, sure, but also really, really turned on. Like when the three of us get out the tools and–”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Bruce said quickly, interrupting. His expression became somewhat pained and a little pleading as he looked up at Steve. “Are they all like…that?”

“No. I just saw two, and I think you read the highlight reel. The others are pretty tame by comparison. Although, for some reason, every one of them wants to take you to a buffet.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Bruce shook his head and scooted from the table. “I’m not quite sure how to take any of that. Is it flattery? If it is, I think I feel a little uncomfortable.”

“Welcome to the prime rib table, Pooh Bear,” Tony said, grinning. “You are a bona fide beefsteak to those folks.”

“I’ve never–” he shook his head. “If anything, I would’ve thought I’d repulse them. Surely this is another way of winding me up.”

The teasing tone dropped from both Steve and Tony’s voices. “No, babe,” Tony murmured. “It takes all kinds and shapes, y’know? And those letters,” he said, nodding towards them, “aren’t meant to tease you or make you mad. They’re just, well, fans of bigger people, I guess.”

“We’re not the only ones, Bruce,” Steve added. He rubbed Bruce’s neck, smoothing away the tense muscles. “I’m used to receiving letters about how I look, although it is a little embarrassing.”

“And I get a lot of propositions,” Tony chimed in. “Or paternity suits. Depends on the time of year.” Bruce chuckled a little; he’d read some of Tony’s letters, too. “You’re the new dish on a very select menu, m’man. And some people really like what they see.”

“I guess so,” Bruce sighed, still uncertain. “Not sure how I feel about it, though. And it still sounds closer to being at my expense than anything else.”

“I know. But it’s not. They genuinely think you’re more cuddly than the rest of us. And that’s okay.”

Bruce’s lips dipped into a small frown, but he opened another of the letters, and it was more praise over his body. But this time not in any overtly sexual way; the author just told him thanks for showing a superhero body that was closer to their own. A hero for the people, they wrote. And after all the negative Hulk press he had to pause and swallow back the growing lump in his throat. 

He put the third letter back in the envelope and gently tapped the table. “So more of an everyman, less of a nobody…maybe that’s not as bad.”

“Nope, not at all.”

“And you were never a ‘nobody,’ Bruce,” Steve added softly. “You’ll always be an important ‘somebody’ to us.”

“And _what_ a body. Can I say that? Too crass--?”

Bruce chuckled at Tony’s quip and fondled an envelope in his fingers. “It’s fine, Tony,” he muttered. And the more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. It wasn’t so bad, being admired. 

And yes, Bruce did continue to receive positive feedback for his physique - praise even - and in time the uncomplimentary letters regarding Bruce began drying up. But there was that time a particularly talented artist drew the three of them _in flagrante delicto_ which caused both Steve and Bruce to blush bright red…and Tony took that picture from them, promising to destroy it.

But he actually scanned it for his phone, and then sent the artist a new, Stark-issued pen tablet. 

Anonymously, of course.


	50. The One Where the Boys Trade Embarrassing Photos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Anonymous asked: How would the guys react to finding pictures of each other when they were younger? Bruce and Tony while they were in college or Preserum Steve?_ **
> 
> _Pictures of young Tony are everywhere in the media, and both Steve and Bruce have seen pictures of him (as well as his secret, prized picture albums)._
> 
> _As for Bruce and Steve, however…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a good chuckle, click the links!

***

Tony rolled his eyes as both Steve and Bruce laughed a little too exuberantly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, fine, I admit it, I was going for James Dean but it didn’t really work for me.”

“You can say that again,” Steve said, biting back a chuckle. He and Bruce were getting a glimpse through the one picture album Tony’d hid from the world. Most of the pictures were pretty ridiculous, but they’d been Maria Stark’s favorites - they’d never seen the light of day outside of the tower, for that very reason.

“I dunno, it’s…sort of Dean-ish?” Bruce carefully tilted the album. “In the right light he’s almost there.” The side-view of Tony was quite young, perhaps mid teens. His gelled hair was long on the top and short in the back - but it was the cigarette dangling from his devil-may-care pout and the patchwork jean jacket with tie that got the two giggling. “Were you trying to go for tough?”

“Tried…and failed.” Tony grabbed the album and flipped to another page. “It was my second term at MIT, and I was tired of getting beat up. Rhodey suggested I ‘add’ something to my image.”

“So you took up smoking?”

Tony shrugged. “I quit a year later. Rhodey snapped [that picture](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F236x%2Fa0%2F3a%2F89%2Fa03a890db76ba06633767f0bfc8a85b1.jpg&t=YjVlNjYwZjZmODcyY2RlYjFjZTM4MDE2YjdiN2U4YTY2Y2QzN2ZlZSxwVGsyRVdyQg%3D%3D&b=t%3AJJ2APnwtwq4PUhblB7AJZg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fburlybanner.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F155309327539%2Fhow-would-the-guys-react-to-finding-pictures-of&m=1) and sent it to Mom. Shit, was she livid when she saw the cigarette. That’s really what got me to quit.” He paused at another picture of him, a rather innocuous one of him pretending to be Charlie Chaplin, but both Bruce and Steve knew talking about his mother could be rather painful for him.

“Halloween,” he explained, pointing to the Chaplin outfit, and Bruce chuckled.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, perhaps a bit miffed that he was still being teased. “What, you never went out trick-or-treating?”

Bruce’s grin slowly faded. He shrugged and flipped to another page in Tony’s album. The new look was probably the silliest of the bunch, with Tony’s bright yellow plaid pants clashing horribly with his clownish high-tops and geeky red glasses, but Bruce no longer felt like laughing.

“Where was [this one](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F736x%2F60%2Fe8%2Ff5%2F60e8f5fe3e7b322dfcac42dce1fccdc7.jpg&t=NjM0NjJjOWY3NTk1YzNkMGNhZDNlOTRiY2Y1MmUwZTVhYTk1N2YzOCxwVGsyRVdyQg%3D%3D&b=t%3AJJ2APnwtwq4PUhblB7AJZg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fburlybanner.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F155309327539%2Fhow-would-the-guys-react-to-finding-pictures-of&m=1) taken?”

“Rhodey’s Mom’s house, on their front porch in Philly,” Tony murmured, but his gaze was hyper-focused on Bruce. “Artful dodge, Doctor Banner. Trick-or-treating? Yes or no?”

Bruce addressed Steve instead. “Steve, did you go trick-or-treating as a boy?”

Steve’s smile was a bit wistful. “We did, but it wasn’t the same as today. You guys are pretty tame. Back then, we kinda tore things up and acted like hooligans. Lots of property damage. No one gave the poor any candy, except for a few - and I was too old for it by the time they made it a kiddie holiday.”

“See, Tony?” Bruce said, turning back to him as if it settled everything. “Not everyone participated in it. It wasn’t a big deal in my household, either.”

“Uh, huh.” Tony’s scowl deepened but he let Bruce’s comment slide, for now. Knowing Bruce’s history, he figured the truth was a lot more damaging. And if Bruce didn’t want to talk about it, there wasn’t much he could do to drag it from him. 

Instead, Tony shut the book with a huff and glared at Bruce and Steve. “I’ve got a wealth of embarrassing pictures at my disposal. But you two,” he said, stabbing a finger at the pair, “haven’t coughed up pic one. I demand stupid pictures from both of you in the next week, or you’ll be sorry. I mean it.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve said, grinning at Bruce. “Like he’ll withhold sex.”

“Oh, it’ll be much worse than that. Trust me.”

Bruce snorted. “No such animal.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot to his scalp. “Are you–are you seriously _testing_ me?” He poked Bruce’s chest, and briefly smirked as his finger sunk into the doughy softness. “ _You_. No lab privileges for a month.”

“Eh–wh– _what_?”

“You heard me. And _you_ ,” he said, rounding on Steve. “I will spoil _every_ ending of _every_ movie in your Netflix queue.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would, and I _will_ ,” Tony said, crossing his arms across his chest. “One week, gentleman. That’s all you have. Better make ‘em good.”

**

“Do you think he means it?”

Bruce grunted and turned a page in his book. It had been five days since Tony’s declaration. Nothing else in their relationship changed, but every so often throughout the week Tony’d tap his wrist and say, “tick-tock, gentlemen.”

“Yes. One hundred percent.”

“Would he really be that mean?”

Bruce snorted and his gaze briefly flickered in Steve’s direction. “It’s Tony, Steve. What do you think?”

Steve winced.“We’re doomed.”

“Yep.”

**

The day of Tony’s threat came faster than either Steve or Bruce would’ve liked, but they both found pictures that they thought Tony might enjoy. Although honestly, Bruce wasn’t sure if his picture would be acceptible. The picture was embarrassing enough for him, but would it work for Tony–? 

“What do you think?”

Steve slid his picture in Bruce’s direction; apparently his thoughts were on the same wavelength as Bruce’s. 

Bruce nibbled his lip to stop from grinning. “Wow, is this you?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He chortled softly. “It’s really uncomfortable, considering the environment. But it’s all I could dig up; most of the other pictures are pretty well-known from the Smithsonian, and all. But this one Peggy kept, and she gave it to me before she…well. Heh. We’d had a good laugh over it, back in the day.”

Bruce caressed the edges of Steve’s photo carefully. “It’s actually…” Bruce swallowed and a small grin pinked the corners of his lips. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah?”

Bruce glanced at Steve and was surprised to see an awkward, shy smile march across the soldier’s lips. His heart swelled a little; he wouldn’t mind seeing that look more often, from  Steve.

“It’s all I had, though.”

“I think Tony will accept the offering. And anyway,” Bruce said, sighing a little, “I think he’s probably just frustrated with us. Neither of us have had pictures taken that weren’t already in the media. Anything he hasn’t seen before will probably suffice.”

“Hopefully so,” Steve sighed. He softly nudged Bruce’s shoulder. “Then…what about you? You find something?”

Bruce fingered the picture in his pocket and felt the rough edges of the weathered photo. “My…ah. My cousin. Jen,” he murmured. “She took a picture of me right before I headed for college. But it’s one of the only pictures of me when I was young, because I actively avoided getting my picture taken. I…ah. I hated how I looked.”

Steve’s lips parted as if he were going to say something, but he let the words die on his lips. “Can’t be any worse than mine.“

Bruce’s eyebrow shot up, in quick challenge. “Oh, yeah? You be the judge, then.”

He gently unfolded the picture from his pants pocket and scooted it to Steve. “There. You may commence teasing now.”

And Steve did laugh, a little. But not as much as Bruce thought he would.

“Look at that mop of hair,” Steve said, and he traced the huge dome of curly hair eclipsing the picture’s frame.

“And the unibrow,” Bruce sighed. “Don’t forget that.”

“The…what?”

Bruce gestured to his picture. “The two caterpillars on my face in a sexual tryst, aka eyebrows.” He shook his head. “God, I sure was a hairy motherfucker.”

Steve laughed despite himself. “Still are.” He scanned Bruce up and down, and his smile was a little lecherous. “Still like what I see.”

Bruce’s cheeks pinked up. “Heh. Anyway.” He swallowed softly and took back his photo. “We should probably track down Tony before he comes looking for us. We can get the teasing done faster that way.”

Steve’s nostrils flared. “Yeah. True.”

**

When they showed their pictures and explained the history behind them, though, Tony was surprisingly solemn. Bruce had been right; Tony really just wanted pictures he hadn’t seen before, something that told him more about the pair than words could express. 

Tony smiled a little at the naked vulnerability of [Steve’s photo](http://www.swiftfilm.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/Screen-shot-2011-07-20-at-9.36.58-AM.png) and he traced the same wild-hair lines that Steve had, when it came to [Bruce’s](http://cbsnews1.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/r/2014/11/15/79085714-e080-400d-81c1-3d584cea3f8a/resize/620x465/c7eb2dc44ace81300ec79e8b84e44e30/mark-ruffalo-at-18.jpg).  

But it took Tony five minutes of absorbing the photos beneath his microscope of raw honesty and gentle reverence before he found his voice again.

“Thank you,” was all he said, after the minutes passed. “D'you mind if I make copies of these? I mean for me, not for anyone else?”

Bruce and Steve exchanged a look. “Um…it’s okay with me,” Bruce said, and Steve nodded. 

“As long as those don’t end up on TMZ or–”

“Never,” Tony said, cutting Bruce off. Bruce had been joking, but Tony was dead serious; his eyes misted as he gave both Steve and Bruce the gentlest of kisses across their lips. After they got over the shock, Tony took their photos and then returned them, a few days later.

But on their next anniversary, Steve and Bruce were treated to a new picture album, artfully decorated by Tony (who knew Tony could scrapbook–?) featuring pictures of the three of them enjoying one another’s company. It was their own family album, for their eyes only.

And if it looked as if either Steve or Bruce’s cheeks were mysteriously wet, well, Tony certainly kept silent about it.

For once.


	51. The One Where the Boys Help an Animal Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Do Bruce and the boys ever volunteer at animal shelters? Because I could easily picture all the cute shelter cats kneeding on Bruce while getting pet.**
> 
> _Bruce heads it up, because of the three he has the biggest heart for animals (and he still remembers the dog he had when he was on the run, so mamy years ago). Occasionally he enlists Tony and Steve's help, and they're pretty happy to help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know next to nothing about NYC shelters, or what vets can/can’t do, or how this would actually all work…but hey, it’s MCU verse! Anything can happen!

“Hoh-m’Gawd–”

Bruce chuckled and squeezed his friend’s shoulder but he could still feel her body quaking beneath his thumbs. “I brought some friends with me, Darlene, if that’s all right.”

Darlene shook in her Chucks, seeing two of her heroes, _Iron Man_ and _Captain America_ in the _flesh_ , and before Tony made a quip to make the poor woman even more uncomfortable, Steve nodded to her. “Bruce told us of the great work you’ve been doing, Dr. Kennedy, and he told us you might need a little extra help getting the word out?”

Her jaw was still not moving, though, and her expression was wide enough to drive a truck through. 

“I think we broke her,” Tony finally said. He snapped his fingers once. “Earth to Darlene?”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed. But he couldn’t hide the slight smile from his lips, because in his mind it was pure payback. Darlene Kennedy had been one of his sophomore students years ago, before the Hulk happened. He’d been her TA for one of the microbiology classes, and she’d been a bit of a livewire: Prone to needling him incessantly during his lectures, questioning him at every turn…true, it was that type of curiosity that allowed her to succeed with high marks in her veterinary program, but at the time she’d tested his temper (which, if he were honest, had still been bad pre-Hulk).

He disappeared from Culver before she’d actually graduated, but he always sort of wondered what had happened to her, in the back of his mind. And when he discovered she was the veterinarian on the board of one of his favorite New York charities, he didn’t hesitate to contact her. She was thrilled; of _course_ she remembered him. They fell into an easy banter once more and he occasionally volunteered, sometimes playfully bossing her around as if he were still her instructor and she his student. That Bruce was even an Avenger at all barely crossed her mind, until now. 

“Darlene, it’s probably more polite if you stop staring,” He told her, chuckling.

“Huh? Oh, oh, sorry.” She shook herself, and rubbed her sweaty hands on her lab coat in order to shake Tony and Steve’s hands. “I’m so sorry. I…I’m not usually like this.”

“Nah, we’re used to it,” Tony said. “But Bruce said you were doing a photoshoot for the clinic, right? We’re here to help out.”

She smirked at Bruce. “And you told me you couldn't get anyone else.”

“To be fair,” Bruce said, matching her smile, “I wasn’t sure what their schedules would be like. Besides, I wanted to see the look of shock on your face.”

“Well. You definitely got me good.” She made a face and softly punched Bruce’s thick arm. “This is good. The calendars should sell out in a hurry with Iron Man and Cap, and the Hulk. We might even go for second or third printings!”

“Anything to help the shelter,” Bruce said, and Tony and Steve agreed.

**

Dr. Kennedy was rather unusual, Steve discovered. And it wasn’t because her foot attire was almost identical to shoes he himself might’ve worn in his youth (Chuck Taylor All-Stars were _still_ around, if that didn’t beat all). But she was a fairly young African-American woman heading up a vet clinic helping the poorer areas near the Bronx. She actually ran two clinics, one in a better area (the one where Bruce took Lily) and this one. 

Tony glanced around; it wasn’t much, but it was clean and had enough room for the pets and vet techs. Plus, it had a small play room in the back - which was always a plus. “So tell me a little more about your organization, Doc?”

Darlene moved a few dog cages, revelaing a large window. Behind it a few other animals barked, meowed and whined in the play area. The young volunteers hadn't caught sight of the Avengers, instead playing and laughing at the animal's antics.

“Well,” she sighed, searching a side closets for some lab coats, “for the most part our organization helps strays. Our neighborhood has a horrible problem with them, and I go out and do some pro bono work for the city. Spaying, neutering, on the spot care, you name it. The strays come to this clinic, where we provide shots and free care before either finding foster families for the animals or, ideally, their forever home. Some of the foster places we connect with provide additioanl recovery for the old, disabled, and more aggressive animals.” She handed two lab coats to Tony and Steve since Bruce was already wearing his, and they awkwardly took them. “Helping out’s made a small dent, but people around here also need care for their own animals. When I can, I try to make it as close to free for them as possible. I help the pet parents with vaccinations, which in turn helps the city aleviate other issues like increases in Feline Leukemia, rabies, distemper, or the like.”

“Which is why you hold fundraisers, like your calendars,” Bruce said, and Darlene nodded.

“Exactly." She nodded to the window, where a few of the volunteers had suddenly spotted them. Their excitement must've spilled over to the animals, because the barking ramped up tenfold. "The neighborhood kids volunteer here, and they help sell the calendars," Darlene said loudly. "I let them keep a little of the proceeds. It’s become like a yearly Girl Scout cookie thing at their schools, but with animals instead of Thin Mints.”

They shared a small laugh over that, and then Steve finally asked the question that puzzled him and Tony. “Well, I think we’re all agreed, that we want to help you wherever we can, Doctor Kennedy. But I’ve gotta ask.” Steve briefly pointed to the lab coats. “Do we need these for any particular reason?”

Darlene beamed at him. “Maybe,” she told him, and she put her hand on a door leading them to the play room. Tony paled at the numbers of animals and people romping around, but Bruce had warned him ahead of time. Which was one reason why Tony’d worn his “cheap” jeans (”only a hundred bucks. Not quality at all”) and an ugly band tee (”worst concert ever, Brucie. I would’t give a rat’s ass if Hermann Munster the Pitbull takes a dump on it”).

“They’re all puppies and kittens,” Bruce said, reassuring Tony again. “And only the cutest and most camera friendly were…” Bruce finally noticed that the volunteers were gaping at them. “Oh, right. I guess they didn’t know we were coming either.” 

Darlene shrugged but opened the door and lead them inside. Steve laughed as a group of Golden Retriever mixes yelped and yipped as they bounded over to the new people. He picked two up in both hands, just as Darlene formally introduced them to the volunteers. Not that the kids needed any, but it broke the awkward ice.

“Please do not overwhelm our guests,” she told the ten helpers, who looked between eleven and eighteen years old. “They’re only here for our photoshoot, and your _only_ job is wrangling the puppies and kittens so we can finish in a timely manner. Got it?”

But of course Tony, Steve and Bruce spent a half-hour talking to the kids, while the camera man in the corner set up his equipment and tested for lighting. Bruce had a feeling that the few pre-photoshoot test pictures would end up somewhere on the calendar. Especially the one with Tony snuggling a kitten while speaking to a volunteer. 

They ended up taking dozens of pictures with the photographer, who also had volunteered her services for the event. Bruce, Tony, and Steve had plenty of pics in unusual, but adorable poses with all types of puppies and kittens. And the lab coats had been used as props - sometimes kittens struggled in pockets, sometimes puppies tugged at an edge, but every picture seemed to work as the three of them pretended to be veterinarians doing health check-ups. Tony and Steve's favorite photo by far was the one of Bruce full-out laughing, while eight kittens pounced and crawled across his belly as he held up a feathered toy. There was a “serious” one of Tony mimicking a bulldog puppy and staring him eyeball to eyeball, and another of Steve grinning as the same group of Retriever puppies as they climbed over his back while he lay flat on the floor, pretending to read a book on puppy training.

And the very back of the calendar had the three of them in lab coats in a Charlie’s Angel’s type pose, with a reminder to support their local animal organizations.

The photography was fantastic and there wasn’t a bad picture in the batch. When the calendar finally came out, they sold out in less than 24 hours - and there were enough extra photos for next year as well. Darlene had actually only planned on five printings but the calendar became the hit of the season, and she ended up getting extra help just for the calendar sales.

All in all it was a fun gig. And yes, it became something they not only repeated, but they also brought Clint, Nat, Thor, Sam, and even Bucky and Scott to future shoots.


	52. The One Where Steve Tries On Bruce's Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: Do Tony and Steve ever steal chubby Bruce's clothes because they're comfy?**
> 
> _Yes, absolutely! In fact, I’d say Steve is the culprit there. And he doesn’t necessarily steal Bruce’s clothes. Not really…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Contains some feedist kink elements. Nothing explicit, but it's a feeder/feedist POV.

Steve did a lot of things now he wouldn’t have dreamed of in the early days of the twentieth century. Well, backtrack that; he _thought_ about certain things, a lot. He remembered going hungry a few times, which wasn’t good for him at all, sick as he was. He remembered going to movies on Bucky’s dime. He remembered huge banquet tables of food in the movies and watching people gorge themselves on all the delicacies life had to offer. He remembered feeling a little funny when he saw cartoons with slim characters becoming instantly fat.

And don’t get him started on Hansel and Gretel, because he’d always dreamed of his own twisted endings. And sometimes he drew things to “get it out,” pictures he never showed a soul, on account of all his twisted feelings showing up, all right there big as life, on his sketchpad.

He ended up burning those sketches.

He’d always been like a see-saw, between loving and hating that part of himself. 

Until…

Steve sighed. His throat felt dry as he stared at Bruce’s section of their huge walk-in closet, and he found himself swallowing a few times as he made his way through the closet. The area was as big as the apartment he and his mother shared, back in the day, but at least Tony’s closet had better lighting. And _heat_. 

His fingers trembled out of habit as he selected one of Bruce’s button-downs. No, what he was doing wasn’t “bad” anymore, he had to keep reminding himself. Bruce was enjoying it. Tony liked participating, too. It was consensual all 'round.

Steve licked his lips and peeled the Oxford from its hanger, and briefly nestled the shirt against his chest. He gasped; Bruce’s shirt was close to being twice the width of Steve’s shoulders, and it sent a huge electric thrill through Steve, right down to his bones. And wasn’t _that_ the funniest thing - he used to feel the same way about Buck’s shirts, when he laid them across his own skinny, short torso, back in the 30s.

After some careful, nervous thought, Steve decided to see if he could fit in Bruce's shirt without undoing any buttons. He stuck his head in and almost - _almost_ made it, but he had to undo the collar button because his head was still too big for the collar. Steve swallowed a lump. He wondered, one day…

Turning, Steve faced the floor-length mirror and his breath caught again because Bruce’s shirt nearly dwarfed him. The sleeves were still a little short, but Steve couldn’t halt the giggle in his throat - Bruce's Oxford was a sleeping shirt on him. Bruce was so big now, that Steve could see himself as that sickly, short kid of yesteryear, the one that--

Yeah, he could admit it now.

He missed that brat. Missed who he was, pre-serum.

But Bruce’s shirts had the ability to take him back. He didn’t feel quite like a huge, Herculean ruffian out of time and place anymore. Bruce’s shirts were comforting reminders of who he was, way back when. Time wasn't such a jarring jolt between then and now (which still happened, when he caught his reflection without warning). 

Bruce's shirt made him feel tiny and insignificant, and sometimes he needed to feel that way, to ground himself. To help reconcile who he was, and the man he was today. 

A small smile graced his lips as he took one last look at himself before removing the shirt, and returning it to its respective hanger.

_Thank you, Bruce._

Steve left the closet. Maybe one day, when Bruce was ready for it, he'd tell Bruce how much his clothes meant, and how they made him really feel.


	53. The One Where the Boys Fight in Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: How would Tony and Steve react to seeing Chubby Bruce in Asgardian clothes for the first time? ******
> 
> _I think they would be ecstatic. Absolutely over the moon…_

 

_Asgard isn’t like Earth_ , Bruce reminded his alter. A line of a hundred, frothing-at-the-mouth lizards the size of Godzilla and warriors the size of ten human men roared at the pitiful cadre opposing them. But the enemy didn’t didn’t know what Bruce knew. That even with as few as ten Asgardian warriors, and Cap - and Iron Man - they’d find out how quickly tables could turn with the addition of a  _Hulk_.

_You don’t have to hold back. Go all out, it’s okay._

Bruce could feel the Hulk roar in anticipation for the battle as they began changing, but this time Bruce wasn’t afraid. As he began losing consciousness Bruce felt the Hulk’s joy  _\- and fury -_ consume them both …and it was  _glorious_.

**

“Bruuuuce–oh, Brucie-bear. Olly-olly oxen-free.”

Thor raised a brow in Tony’s direction, clearly unfamiliar with the phrase, but remained silent as they followed the debris trailing Bruce's flight from battle. 

Steve smirked at the engineer. “They still say that, huh?”

“Yep. Some things never change.”

Steve and Tony exchanged a look while Thor shook his head and hid his own smile. “Midgardlans,” he rumbled quietly, though his companions clearly heard him, from the way they softly chuckled.  "Although we may not have needed it," Thor continued, "thank you for your aid. With many our warriors currently battling in Niflheim, we were low on our numbers. What could have taken a day simply took hours, with our combined strengths.” Thor was surprised at his own candor and humility; he’d learned much from his fellow Midgardians. In days of old, he would have bragged about how much he didn’t need anyone’s aid. But now? It was good to have the continued bonds of friendship at his beckon.

“No problem,” Steve said. He was only limping a little, but the Asgardian healers had quickened his healing abilities with unique herbs and poulitces. “Of course we were happy to help.”

“Aye.” Thor frowned against the bright Asgardian sun and cupped his brow before gesturing with his chin. “It shouldn’t be much farther. There’s a grove a few paces ahead, where Banner most likely collapsed. It’s quite a peaceful place, mostly free from visitors, apart from the hallowed animal or three.”

Tony nodded. After the battle Hulk had loped off, and even their combined yelling hadn’t stopped him. A Hulk going full clip down a mountainside and into parts unknown had turned into a few hours out of their schedule locating him. “It’s not like he’s been hard to find,” Tony said, pulling back a broken branch. “Hulk’s signature is all over the damn place and he’s not exactly subtle.“

“I’m still surprised Bruce went this far without changing back,” Steve sighed. “He’s usually himself sooner than this.” He shielded his hand over his eyes, briefly checking the sky and landscape. 

“Unless something was going after him.”

Thor shook his head and his golden locks shifted in the gentle breezes.  “Doubtful. If a challenger awaited him, we would have heard the roar of battle. In earnest, I would ponder his alter’s enjoyment of this land instead. Here he is treated equally, regardless of his form. And the knowledge that he need not worry of harming anything or anyone about him surely lightens his heart and provides a comfort, of sorts.”

“Huh.” Tony rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Even the Big Guy’s gotta have some ‘me’ time.”

“I just wish he hadn’t run so damn  _far_. I mean, I know he’s not in any danger, but still.”

Tony gestured to Steve's injured leg. “You gettin’ tired, Cap?”

“No," Steve sighed, shaking his head. "I just wonder how hard it’ll be to get Bruce back, if Hulk’s enjoying himself this much.”

Thor immediately noticed his traveler's darkened brows and how their jovial mood tapered. But he understood their concerns; if Banner chose his alter’s life instead, it may cause their current relationship to sour.

They trudged in companionable silence for the rest of the journey, before Thor revealed to a thicket of downed tree limbs. “Ah, I see,” Thor said with a smile. “He’s hidden himself away. Drawn himself in, for protection.” Thor traded gazes with Tony and Steve. “As an animal might, before sleep takes hold.”

“So you’re saying he’s out cold.”

“Mayhap.” Thor grinned broadly. “Shall we rouse him?”

***

Bruce moaned. He felt warm, safe, and comfortable, and the sun’s rays on his face and the lingering scents of honeysuckle, rose and lavender made him want to continue sleeping for a while yet. Part of him heard low voices, but it was the first time in a long time he’d felt so at peace, so he kept his eyes shut, hoping for more time.

“Brucie, hon’.I know you’re exhausted–”

“Mmm. Fi’ more minutes–”

“–but you’re butt naked in an Asgardian meadow. Not that I care, or Steve, but  _you_ might care that Thor’s here and gettin’ an eyeful. Just sayin’.”

Bruce made another noise, because his mind took awhile to catch up. And then–

“Oh, crap–”

“There’s our little exhibitionist.”

Bruce tried to awkwardly cover himself after catching Tony’s lecherous smirk, but there was a lot more to him these days and two hands weren’t cutting it.

Thor chuckled and began approaching him with what looked like clothing, but Steve subtly shoved himself between them. “I’ll give those to Bruce, Thor.  Thanks.”

Bruce glanced between Thor and Steve, but Steve took the Asgardian garments and handed them to Bruce. Bruce mostly ignored the rest of the exchange in favor of figuring out how the clothes worked. He waved the soft tunic in front of him and turned it around a few times.

_Hmm, is this the front or the back-? Without tags it’s almost impossible to tell…_

Thor picked up on the truth while Bruce was busy gauging his clothes and dealing with his own Hulk-sized tiredness.  “There’s no cause for alarm, friend Steve,” he said gently. “I know the bond you three share - I meant no disrespect.”

Bruce blinked, watching as Steve’s cheeks flushed, but the super soldier switched his feet and stared in another direction. The sun caught Steve just right, though, and Bruce’s gaze over him  lingered as he pulled on his soft boots.  

“I just think Bruce deserved some modicum of decency, is all.”

“I’ve been naked before, in stranger places,” Bruce snorted under his breath, but Tony’s laugh interrupted them.

“Steve. You’re positively adorable when you’re jealous.”

Bruce made a face. “Wait, what?” 

“I admit, Banner’s current stoutness is an added boon to his beauty–” Bruce’s eyebrows definitely shot up, and he couldn’t help his Thor-directed double-take  “–but I would not deign it proper to presume.”

“In other words,” Tony translated, “Thor’s not interested, Steve. Unless you want him to be.”

The tips of Steve’s ears burned bright. “Right. Sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge because I’ve noticed more than a few people with a passing interest in Bruce.”

Bruce squeaked. “Are you  _serious_?” He grumbled a litle, trying to figure out how his belt and over-tunic (or whatever it was called) worked. He wrestled with the material while grumbling at Steve. “They admire the Hulk’s strength, surely.”

Steve chuckled softly. “No, Porkpie. It was you.” He gently went over and kissed Bruce’s cheek. 

“You’re the newest dish on the Asgardian menu, Bruce.” Tony sighed and shook his head as an unusual bird squawked nearby. A peacock, maybe.  “You should show off your curves, m’man. Strut your stuff and preen a little. And then don’t let ‘em forget that you’re ours, because  _hands off_.”

Bruce chuckled. He didn’t understand why anyone even thought such a thing who wasn’t into very larger men, but whatever. Different strokes, and all. Even on Asgard.

“God…dammit,” Bruce grunted. He knew something wasn’t right with what he was wearing, but he couldn’t figure out how it all fit around him. With his fatter body, he couldn’t discern any patterns to the threads–

Thor exchanged a look with Steve and Tony. “May I?”

Steve paused and sheepishly nodded. “It’s okay. I won’t bark at you any more.”

Smiling softly, Thor went over to Bruce and helped him stand. “The sporran should be reversed,” he said, and he gripped the sides of the belt and twisted it forward. “And the pouch should be strapped as so. And the cloak is meant to be fastened here and here - if you choose it.” Thor’s smiled widened, but hid Bruce’s completed look from Tony and Steve’s view.

“I think the look most fitting, with the hooded cloak.”

“Hm.” Bruce tugged at the fabric bunched at the waist - but the clothing flowed in the right places, just maybe not in the way he expected it to. The medium-blue (Ocean color?) of the tunic was offset by the royal blue cloak with gold brocade trimming, but he suppose it suited Asgard. The clothing was a little ostentatious for his tastes but it was also surprisingly lightweight, considering how much he wore of it.

“Well, I guess I’m ready to head back, then. Although I’m still a little tired,  so I wouldn’t mind if we…”

He stopped, suddenly noticing how still Tony and Steve had become. Thor had stepped aside and bowed, presenting Bruce to them in a weird way. He figured the bow was some sort of strange Asgardian custom to which he had little knowledge. 

“What?”  Bruce nervously adjusted his clothes, but there wasn’t a lot of give. Despite the lightweight fabrics and the comfort of the clothes he still felt like a stuffed sausage, to be honest. “Something on backwards?”

“N-no,” Tony said, his tongue uncharacteristically tied. “You look…I mean–”

“Gorgeous,” Steve breathed, and Tony slowly nodded.

“Yeah, uh. It ah. It suits you, big guy.”

Bruce smirked. “As chunky as I am?”

“ _Especially_ so. Shit. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Blue is definitely one of your colors. Brings out your eyes. Your cheeks. Your…” he gestured lamely and sighed like a lovestruck teen. “ _Everything_.”

Steve seemed a little unsteady as he approached, and took a surprised Bruce’s arm. “I feel underdressed.” He pointed to his uniform. “Really,  _really_ underdressed.”

“Well, it’s not like we had anything but our own uniforms to fight in and whatever we had on underneath,” Tony mused. He hooked his arm into the crook of Bruce’s opposite side and glanced at his t-shirt and ratty jeans - his standard Iron Man out-of-costume costume. “You’re the highlight of the show this time, Banner. I think  _I’ll_ be the jealous one, if anyone’s tongue hangs out of their mouth.”

Thor indulged them with a small smile of satisfaction. “Our weavers are quite skilled, and know their crafts well. When they realized Banner would need a change of clothes after his bout with our monsters, they immediately went to work, and created suitable wear. You may understand it not, but our weavers find clothing that, in your vernacular, would match the ‘soul’ of an individual. Not just their outward appearance. And they take their craft very seriously.”

“So I see,” Steve whispered. He shyly caught Thor’s eye. “Tony and I may need clothes of our own. Originally I wanted to leave as soon as Bruce woke, but with this added benefit…” he nibbled his lip. “Maybe we should stay for dinner this time.” 

Tony nodded, agreeing 100% with Steve.

“We shall have a banquet in your honor,” Thor said proudly. “I had hoped you’d stay, to be very honest. Suitable wear has already been set out for you, Steven. And you, Anthony. I think you’ll find those clothes very much to your liking as well.”

And Thor was true to his word. The trio spent the entire evening ogling each other’s Asgardian wear, noting how very much it brought out their separate personalities and their particular traits. They danced, dined, and toasted to the success of Asgard for the rest of the day, and into most of the night. Tony thought they’d get into a fight or two the way Steve stared down a few ladies (and men) who made passes Bruce’s way, but Thor had given the subtle, “hands off” gestures, and instead their conversations with the Asgardians were as hale and hearty as their food and drink. 

Although to be fair, after the banquet they found space to be alone and their new clothes didn’t stay on for long. Not that they minded that, either.

 

(A/N: Depictions of Bruce’s tunic in my mind are a combination of these two pictures: [Here ](https://princepssenatus.deviantart.com/art/reading-is-fun-483085738)and [here](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/38/7c/db/387cdbba39ef0e6818195c3e51b5cad0--mage-male-young-wizard.jpg).)


	54. The One Where Bruce Has (Another) Embarrassing Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: What's the most embarrassing thing that has happened to chubby Bruce?**
> 
> _I will preface this by saying what the_ latest _most embarrassing thing was. He’s had several embarrassing moments (and getting stuck in stuff is near the top) but the following incident may very well be the topper…_

Tony had been on actual pins and needles the whole day. Literally. He’d been working on modifications to some of his Iron Man suits, and some of the filaments he’d planned required thin, flexible needles and lightweight pin connectors. He was rather proud of himself, to be honest, and had gotten in the modification groove so much so, that he missed Bruce’s lab entrance.

He did a double-take when the man in question was staring down at him, arms folded, with a less-than-enthused expression across his cheeks.

Still cute, though. Bruce could try looking mad ‘til the cows ran home, but his chubbier cheeks deemed the anger look null and void.

Unless they turned green. Then all bets were off.

“What’s wrong, oh third of my life?” Tony scooted from beneath the torso of his latest suit and wiped his smudged hands on a nearby towel. “Why the sour puss pout?”

“It’s your fault,” Bruce rumbled. “I blame you for this entire day.”

Tony chuckled a little to himself and headed for the lab fridge, where he brought out two sodas - one of which he tossed to Bruce. “Gotta be more specific, loverboy. Lots of blame to go around. You’d better take a number.”

Which was, sadly, a little true. He’d been good for a while, but went off the rails Saturday night. Steve was still mad - but seriously. When Tony’d heard the venom spewing from that politician’s mouth, he figured the “accidental” sucker punch had been justified. Pepper did her thing and told the press he’d had too many cocktails, and that his elbow stumbled into the man’s face. Or something like that. 

Even though he hadn’t had a drop all night.

Fuck it, next life iteration: Senator Stark.

Bruce drained his soda in a few gulps (Tony couldn’t blame him; the sodas were those dumb mini ones Pepper liked, and though they did make for fewer lab spills, they were sized for hobbits). Tony tossed him another and hopped on a nearby desk.

“You wanna share, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

The scientist grumbled quietly again, and plopped his portliness into the lab couch. The couch had retained the deep divot of Bruce’s wider backside over the months, and sometimes Tony found himself resting his head in the crevices when Bruce wasn’t around. Was that kinky? Maybe. Maybe not. Depended on his mood when he did it.

“Okay,” Tony drawled, nodding sharply. “Drag it is. You left your lunch at home, and had to borrow money from someone.”

“No.”

“You got lost.”

“No.”

Tony smirked. “Someone came on to you.”

_“No.”_

Despite how uncomfortable Bruce looked, Tony couldn’t help the slow grin creeping across his lips. He’d finally been successful at procuring a side job at NYU for Bruce, and the man took a few days out of his week to return to another thing he loved: teaching college students. It took a lot of string pulling, but Bruce’s “guest lecturer” gig was a win-win for all involved. The university didn’t have to worry about their insurance rates spiking, and they only had to pay Bruce a stipend. Plus, Bruce’s notoriety did bring a lot of new students to the department, which improved their numbers. The nervous Provosts had finally relaxed, realizing Bruce wasn’t fighting his alter at every turn.

Which...

_Uh, oh._

“Uh, Brucie…did you Hulk out?”

Bruce glared at him over his glasses.

Tony held up his hands to placate him. “Just asking. Don’t shoot the questioner.”

“No, I did not ‘Hulk out,’ thank you very much,” he growled between his teeth. “I wouldn’t have taken the job if I thought I couldn’t control The Other Guy. But…” He sighed miserably. “I think I almost would’ve preferred an 'incident' over what happened today.”

Tony’s eyebrow quirked, and he hopped off the counter to rummage in the snack drawer. He pulled out a family bag of M&M’s and brought it over to the couch, then sat next to Bruce.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, glumly taking the bag from him. He systematically began cramming the candy in his mouth.

“So what _did_ happen, Pooh Bear?” Tony ruffled Bruce’s curls, and Bruce sighed before leaning against Tony’s shoulder. “Kinda at a loss with the twenty-question thing.”

Bruce ate another handful before taking another deep, rumbling sigh. “We were supposed to go shopping yesterday.”

“For school clothes,” Tony said, grinning. “School clothes for adults. Yeah, I remember. But I had that thing.”

“The public apology to the Senator thing,” Bruce said, scolding him with his eyes. Tony rolled his own.

“Yeah, fine, we’ll go shopping tonight or tomorrow. No biggie.” He really did like clothes shopping with Bruce. He’d call that a definite kink, especially with the amount of material Bruce needed to cover his body these days.

“Except that it was. A biggie.”

Tony turned, got a good look at Bruce’s reddening cheeks, and groaned. “Ohhhh, Bruce, no. You didn’t. I _told_ you–”

“I know, I know,” Bruce held up his hands. “But I figured it’d be okay. At least one last time.”

Tony held his face in his hands, but he did it only to hide the laugh threatening to bubble over. “Your favorite slacks.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re two sizes too small, Bruce.”

“I know.”

“But you wore them anyway, didn’t you?”

“They’re my _favorite_ slacks, Tony. Did I or did I not just say that?”

“And…”

“I...was wearing purple boxers with Hulk faces on them.”

“Your favorite boxers.”

“No, _your_ favorites. But I like them because you like them.” 

“How bad--?”

“I dropped the dry erase marker. I had to bend down to get it, and…”

“And exposure city.”

“Straight down the middle. Exposed the entire class.”

Tony was openly laughing while Bruce mournfully shook his head. 

Tony choked back tears, to try and get a few words in. “Tell me you at least saved face.”

“The boxers didn’t rip. But I still had the rest of the class to teach. I decided to make the most of it.”

“Oh, God, Bruce–”

“So I took off the pants. What was the point, they were torn anyway, and everyone knew it.”

“You taught. The rest of the class–”

“In my boxers, yes. Do you know how hard it is to explain the nuances of quantum theory in Hulk boxers, Tony? _Do_ you?”

“I…I can only imagine.”

That was it. Tony had no words. For five minutes all he could do was laugh, while Bruce shifted uncomfortably on the couch and drowned his sorrows in the rapidly diminishing M&M bag.

Of course the good news was, everyone at the university now knew just how big a handle he had on the Other Guy. Because if an incident like that didn’t make him turn, nothing would.


	55. The One Where Bruce Needs Comforting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked: Does Bruce ever get in moods where he really needs reassurance but is afraid of being clingy or annoying?**
> 
> _Yes he does, anon. Very much so._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Kinda angsty.

He was a grown man; of course he didn’t need the attention. Besides, Tony and Steve were busy watching a movie he’d already seen before (a movie neither Tony nor Steve had seen, a rarity in itself) and he just wasn’t up to seeing it again. He had a feeling that between the weather, and the middle of May coming up…well. He just wasn’t in a comedy mood, and he told them he was a little tired from staying up the night before. Which was partially true. True enough that they bought it.

Bruce sighed and asked Jarvis to upload a book he’d always meant to read but never did, then he rummaged through the snack kitchen (yes, they had a separate snack kitchen now, and thankfully the rest of the Avengers didn’t know about it yet). He grabbed bags of chips, candy and cookies along with his e-Reader, and made his way to the library for a bit of peace and quiet. 

Unfortunately, he really couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs without thinking of…her. Instead his eyes kept flitting to the window, and he watched the heavy rain pelt across the bay windows. The rain was comforting he supposed, in its own way, and he munched his chips and ate handfuls of M&Ms in time to the rain droplets. He was feeling rather lazy as well, and asked the bots to grab snacks from the lower shelves and bring them to him whenever he’d finished a bag of something. It wasn’t that he was hungry, per se, but eating soothed him. Like the rain.

In between reading and eating and watching the rain he wondered how Steve and Tony felt this time of year. Steve may have celebrated differently, and he wondered if it were such a big holiday in his time. Tony flat out ignored it, and so they all found ways of occupying the time. But they never really discussed it, together, as they probably should’ve. Bruce didn’t want to be the annoying one to bring it up, but it wasn’t good to stuff down their feelings.

Bruce glanced at his sticky hands and empty snack bags - and empty soda bottles (since when had U grabbed the soda bottles…?). He shook his head at the odd phrasing because “stuffing down” was absolutely right, in his case.

He’d asked Jarvis for some wet wipes and napkins (because he felt too bloated to move just yet), and was finishing wiping his fingers, when Tony shuffled in, followed by Steve. They looked a little humble and forlorn, and Bruce couldn’t figure out why; their movie’d always made him laugh, in the past.

“Is it done already?” He wiped his fingers and thanked U for the garbage bag he’d brought. The bot was still cleaning up the remnants of empty packages and bottles, which Bruce was grateful for. He’d not been in the mood to do it himself.

“No,” Steve answered, shrugging. He helped put an empty cookie package in the garbage bag, and U chirped at him thankfully. “But we…” he stole a glance at Tony who looked unusually somber. “We wanted to make sure you were okay, too.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled uneasily. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” His fingers fumbled for another bag of candy, but Steve’s hands softly stopped him. 

“It’s okay, Brucie,” Tony murmured instead. He shuffled behind Bruce’s chair and buried his chin into Bruce’s thick, soft neck. “It’s…I don’t talk about it either, none of us do. We’ve got it rough, but I’m guessin’ it’s a serious trigger for you.”

Steve moved his hand but Bruce swallowed and felt his fingers twitch around the candy bag. He’d rather eat more junk food than talk about it, but if he did that he’d absolutely give himself away. “Really,” he said, blinking owlishly between the two men. He shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. But, I think we should get started on dinner, yes?” He grunted as he pulled away from Tony and tried sitting up. God, he was really full, and wedged tight. But it was nearly five and he needed to get–

“Not yet,” Steve said softly. Steve’s hand was firm and strong across Bruce’s chest, and he forced Bruce down. Not that he would’ve gone too far anyway, stuffed as he was. “All cards on the table, Bruce. You…we all know. It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. It hurts,” he said, watching as Bruce glanced down at his shirt. Bruce tugged his shirt bottom with his sausage-y fingers, reveling in the snugness of his polo. Bruce gently squeezed his own belly, but the action of playing with his extra pudge couldn’t tune out Steve’s words. 

“I think…they would’ve loved the people we became, y’know? And I know I would’ve loved Rebecca.” He smiled a little, watching as Bruce ran a nervous hand across his ample stomach. “I think it’d be good to take a few hours to think about our Moms. To trade some good stories, this year.” Steve shrugged. “It’d help me, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. His voice was a raspy raw mess, and Bruce looked up cautiously. Tony’s lashes held back tears, and it was almost too much. “Maybe we could talk tonight, and maybe lay some flowers at a few memorial spots tomorrow. If we feel like it.”

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but…he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat and he knew if he dared speak he’d end up bawling, and he just didn’t feel like doing that just yet. He nodded jerkily, causing his chin to wobble, but this was what he wanted. It really was. But it still hurt so much, despite being so long ago…

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay. Let it out.” Tony on his left, and they were helping him to the lavender couch in the library. Was he crying? He didn’t even know. He must’ve said it out loud.

“We’re here, Muffin,” Steve said. Steve let Bruce curl up like a giant medicine ball into his chest while Tony softly rubbed tiny circles into his massive back. “We’re not judging you.”

“Yeah, because you know we’re next, right?” Bruce heard Tony snuffle after a few minutes and hiccuped through bawling and laughing.

“C’mere,” Bruce said, and even though his face was soaked in his own tears and snot Tony snuggled in tight, allowing himself to cry in a way Bruce rarely saw. 

And even Steve broke, after Tony and Bruce cried ‘til they were spent, and he talked about how Sarah Rogers should’ve been canonized with the amount of shit he pulled, and so on and so forth.

It was the first time they all broke, though, and Bruce had been right; they’d all needed it. And although they didn’t quite make the memorial that Mother’s Day, they were able to go the following year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay to still mourn your parents' deaths, even after years or decades have gone by. It really is.


	56. An Infundo Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Bruce, and Steve plan to visit Bruce's cousin for Thanksgiving but considering Bruce's sour mood, a little "pre-gaming" may be in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - there is a *huge* fetishy stuffing section in this piece (pun intended), and if you’d like to skip it it begins after the line, _As if he didn’t have a choice, Bruce’s stomach growled loudly, and Tony laughed. “Looks like I made the right call”_  and the story picks back up with, _And it's a surprise?_. You don’t need to read the fetishy portion to understand the story, so feel free to skip if it’s not your thing.
> 
> Also, this piece is a bit angsty...but it ends on a feel-good note.

When Tony heard the third f-bomb in as little as ten minutes, he sighed softly and glared over his phablet.  _ And they say Bruce is the patient one, _ he grumbled to himself.  Not that there wasn’t much in the world that couldn’t tear him away from  _ such _ lovely reading material as legal documents written in Mandarin (which, yes, had been “translated,” but the translation job had been so shoddy Tony opted to read the original. Which sucked, because even with JARVIS’ excellent translation programs some of the nuances were...tricky).

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Tony rolled his eyes and his phablet clattered across the coffee table. “Okay, that does it. What’s up, Doc?”

He received a few seconds of silence before Bruce snorted like a bull and petulantly threw down a bundle of papers. “Nothing.”

Tony tsked and rolled up from his chair, and casually strolled to where Bruce had hunkered down into a very comfy settee built to Bruce’s current size and shape (meaning either one extra-fluffy Bruce, or two medium-to-large Avengers).  He maneuvered the floor lamp until the light was fully in Bruce’s face. “Go on. You were lying...?”

“Stop it.” Bruce batted the light away and...yep, there it was, a hint of green throbbing near his frontal lobe.

Not a good sign at all.

“All right, big guy.” Tony came behind the chair to massage Bruce’s massive shoulders, but it felt like digging into dried up clay. “Damn, you’re tense.”

“Of  _ course _ I’m--” Bruce realized his voice had gotten louder, and he sighed deeply as Tony continued. “Fine. Yes. I’m ‘tense,’ as you put it.”

“Lemme guess. It had something to do with--?” and Tony gestured to the clump of papers. “I thought you had your TA grading your student’s work.”

“She usually does,” Bruce growled. He grunted a little while trying to reach for the papers, but the struggle forward bordered on comical. Tony would’ve loved watching his chair conflict at another time, but now wasn’t it. Hiding a smile, he picked up the papers and plopped them on the side table for easy reach.

“So, what made this one special?” Tony's hands resumed massaging, and he noted the loosening tension in Bruce’s shoulders.

“David’s pursuing the grad-track in physics and he’s working on his thesis for the PhD program.” Bruce briefly glanced at Tony before his cheeks tinged peach and he fumbled the student’s papers. “He’s ah. Researching ways to use arc reactor tech in impoverished areas of the world.”

Tony beamed. “Well...awesome! SI’s looking for a new intern after the first of the year. If he gets accepted--”

“Tony,” Bruce barked, interrupting him. “Read the highlighted paragraphs on page twenty.” As Tony rifled through it, Bruce rolled up to grab his snack tray and down a few walnuts.

“No rush, take your time,” he said, mouth full.

Tony read silently, unsure of what Bruce meant, but then--

“See it?” Bruce asked, watching Tony’s brow furrow.

“Crap.”

“He was so damn close, and then he pulls  _ this  _ shit.” Bruce yanked the document from Tony’s hands and plopped back on the settee, which squeaked ominously under his excess weight. “I’ll have to report him. It’ll probably ruin his academic chances.”

Tony shrugged. “He stole from the best.”

Bruce glared at him. “That’s not funny. This is plagiarism, on a major scale.”

Tony made a face. “I’m not sure if I’d call two paragraphs ‘major.’ “

“Not--” Bruce’s vein throbbed again, and Tony gave him a cautious eye. “Are you fucking with me right now? That’s  _ your  _ work he’s claiming as his own! That’s...that’s--”

“Calm down, Brucie,” Tony said, shushing his partner. Bruce was definitely getting more riled than he needed to be. “You’re too worked up about it.”

“Damn right I am,” Bruce nearly shouted. “What I don’t get is how you can be so cavalier about this. I have to--” Tony raised an eyebrow, went behind the settee, and jammed his thumb into that  _ one _ sweet spot between Bruce’s shoulder blades. “To-- _ oooh _ ...”

He chuckled as Bruce sunk into the chair like melting candle wax. “He probably forgot his citations, Bruce.  You know how we science types are. And didn’t you say you never accepted late work?”

Bruce nodded, unable to say anything apart from groans of pleasure as Tony’s fingers worked their magic. “So he was on a deadline, wanted to prove to you - and by proxy me - that he could do the job, so he copypasta’d what he shouldn’t have. Bruce, you vouching for him proves he’s no slouch' you wouldn’t allow that. So cut him some slack now. Trust he made a mistake, and help him get out of it. You’re his grad advisor, so advise the ever-living fuck out of him.”

When Bruce didn’t say anything, Tony continued digging down the center of his back and around his spine. He shook out his other hand and made a face. “Maybe,” Tony muttered, clenching and unclenching his fingers, “you should tell me what’s  _ really  _ bugging you. You’ve had a burr up your backside for almost a week now and it’s been driving Steve and me nuts.”

Grunting, Bruce waited until Tony stopped kneading his back before running a hand beneath his glasses to rub his eyes. “It’s Thanksgiving,” he rumbled.

“And we’re leaving Tuesday to spend time with your cousin. So?” Tony didn’t see the problem, but Bruce glanced at him nervously.

“It’s...well. It’s the  _ day _ , really.” He sighed, collapsing in on himself. He removed his glasses from his face and twirled them in his meaty hands. “ _ You _ get it. Because families--” He choked and looked down, then tried again after a beat. “Families. Like mine. Living in my toxic childhood was horrible on the best of days, but holidays...?”

“Bruce--”

Bruce waved Tony off, but a darkening swell of emotions danced across his features. “Thanksgivings were...worse than Christmas, Tony. We fought over food, over who snubbed us, over what a  _ disappointment  _ I was.” He enunciated his words and gritted his teeth as Tony ran a soothing hand over his back. “I fucking  _ hated  _ Thanksgiving. After the three-day weekend I’d return to school sporting new bruises, or limping from unset broken bones. My father’s rage, after an entire weekend of comparing our success with others in our extended family, was unconscionable.  _ Incomparable _ ...”

He trailed off, lost in a shitstorm of memories, and Tony gently kissed his temple to bring back his focus. “I know the memories hurt, Bruce. But it won’t be like that. Not  _ ever  _ again. You know that, right?”

Bruce nodded, running a shaky thumb across his knuckles. “Maybe the other half of the equation is I haven’t visited Jen for over a year. We’ve both been too busy, and I...” He stared at his shaking hands. “I...I really can’t deal with rejection right now.”

Tony’s lips made a small “o” and Bruce shyly looked back.

“Aw, Brucie...” He smiled fondly and slid halfway on the settee’s arms. “She won’t care about that, she loves  _ you _ . She’d be a pretty shallow person to judge, and I don’t see her as the type.”

“I realize that, on a conscious level. It’s just...” Bruce let out another sigh. “I don’t  _ know _ . I mean, we’ve Skyped, so she sort of gets it, but it’s...it’s different. In  _ person  _ is different.”

Tony gently kissed Bruce’s forehead. “Quit worrying.”

“Someone has to,” Bruce shot back, but his words carried no heat.

“You know,” Tony said, in that lilting way Bruce knew all too well, “Steve’ll be here in less than twenty minutes. I told him to pick up a few things from the store.”

Bruce swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He thought with the mood you were in, we should at least pre-game Thanksgiving.”

Bruce frowned, but Tony saw a darker, lustier glint in his eyes, too. “Pre-game?” He repeated. “Why?”

Tony shrugged. “No reason. We want you to enjoy yourself tonight. Maybe help you take your mind off things. Help you relax.”

Bruce chuckled quietly. “Stuff me, you mean.”

“Sure,” Tony said, but his coy smile wasn’t fooling anyone. “If you want to call it that.”

As if he didn’t have a choice, Bruce’s traitorous stomach growled and Tony laughed at him. “Sounds like the right call.”

***

 

Steve placed the final heavy group of bags on the kitchen counter, and double-checked that he'd brought everything up from the garage. Then he nervously glanced at the wall clock, even though JARVIS could’ve told him the time ( _ yes, sometimes I  _ like  _ having “ancient” devices around to ground me, Tony, despite your constant bickering of the modern age versus the “stone age” _ ).

He told them both twenty minutes, but it’d actually taken him thirty. But he’d had to pick up Tony’s order as well as his own, so... “JARVIS,” he finally said. “Where are the boys?”

Steve almost heard a smile in JARVIS’ soothing response. “Sirs are currently awaiting your arrival in the main lounge. Shall I alert them to your presence?”

“In a minute,” Steve said. He’d asked JARVIS not to tell them he was there until he was ready. He almost was, but he wanted to arrange the kitchen table in just the right way, with everything perfectly displayed.

Steve didn’t even bother with the fancy silverware; he chose the good plastic picnic stuff instead, knowing no one would want to bother with the dishwasher tonight.

He plated the food around the table in sections, thinking about where they might start. He tried arranging everything in a way Norman Rockwell would be proud - full of bright colors and tasty combinations close by - but his smile clouded when he considered what the night might hold. He wanted all three of them good and truly sated by the end of it all. 

“Rooooogers! We know you’re here! We can smell it!”

Steve laughed at Tony’s irritated bellow. “Yeah, okay, you caught me,” he yelled back.

“Is it ready yet? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

His grin grew; he’d been counting on Bruce’s insatiable hunger while plating the food. “Okay, okay. Hold on just a few more seconds.” Steve dimmed the lights and took off his jacket, trading it for a special apron.

“Alright you two,” he said, but his voice hardened, becoming more commanding. He expected Tony and Bruce would respond the right way, if he used his “Captain America” tone. “I’m ready. But you have to do one thing for me first.”

Pause. “What is it?”

“Go to the hall closet. Put on what’s in there - you’ll know who gets what pretty easily. Then come join me.

Tony’s nervous chuckle followed him down the hall, but Bruce’s moan wasn’t entirely comforting.  “Don’t worry, Porkpie,” Steve muttered to himself. “You’ll like it.”

There was another aborted laugh followed by Bruce’s, “what the hell--?” but at least they weren’t arguing against their attire.

“You want me to strip?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, Tony.”

“Uh, I don’t think these sizes are quite right...”

“That’s probably part of his plan, Bruce.”

“... _ ohhh _ . Heh.”

Steve smiled at Bruce’s quiet snicker.  “You two finished?”

“Almost. Bruce is havin’ tr...hey, quit squirmin’ big guy, you look fine.”

Steve felt giddy while shifting his pants. “I’m waiting, slowpokes.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“When you’re ready, Tony, lead Bruce in - but cover his eyes.”

“... _ what-- _ ?”

“You heard me.”

There was a slight grumbling and shuffling, but Steve was in charge tonight. He and Tony discussed it, and agreed Steve would take point. Besides, when it came to trying unusual things Bruce normally trusted Steve’s judgment.  And they’d need a lot of trust tonight. A  _ whole _ lot.  

With one last grunt, Tony kicked open the kitchen door, but as promised he still had both hands over Bruce’s eyes.

“Hol-ee...hell, I had no fuckin’ clue. All  _ that _ ?”

“What? What is it?”

“Calm down, Bruce.” Tony’s eyes roamed over the spread, and Steve looked pleased, like a cat who finished a bowl of cream. “I mean, I know I said twelve, but--”

“I doubled it.”

“ _ Ohhh _ . Okay. Hah. I swear, Cap...”

“Tony, Steve--” Bruce sounded more than irritated. “Do you  _ mind _ ? Can I look yet?”

Steve and Tony waited a beat before Steve nodded. “Okay. Go ahead, Tony.”

When Tony dropped his hands Bruce squinted under the brightness the kitchen lights, but once his eyes adjusted he froze; his mind boggled at the spread surrounding him. Steve must've ordered everything from their favorite caterer’s holiday menu, but in multiples: three meats (turkey, roast beef,  _ and _ a honeybaked ham), three different sets of potato dishes (one loaded with bacon, cheese and chives, one mashed with glorious garlic butter, one au gratin), oyster stuffing, regular stuffing,  _ cornbread  _ stuffing, three kinds of rolls,  _ three _ cranberry sides, coleslaw and beans and bacon-wrapped things and sides on sides upon sides in every direction ( _ two _ mac and cheese dishes? honestly?), sweet potato dishes and other casseroles...not to mention the three or four pies and...and--  

“Are you sure this is enough?” Bruce’s sarcasm made Tony grin like a schoolboy. “Please tell me we’re expecting the team later on.”

“Nope.” Steve grabbed a plate and joyously began loading it up. “Just us.”

Bruce did a double take. “You’re deranged. The three of us can’t possibly eat all this.”

“We can try.” Tony tugged at his outfit (a frilly French maid apron, covering his band tee and black jeans), and pointed at Steve. “Hey, we match.”

“That’s the plan.”  Steve’s eyes glittered like opals in the light. “Sit, muffin.”

Bruce made a face but did as he was told. Sitting was tough, though; he was wearing normal enough clothes compared to Tony and Steve, but his outfit was at least two sizes too small. Bruce’s stomach surged over his beltline while he gracelessly tugged at the tightness surrounding his middle. He supposed his pants were better fitting than his shirt, though; the buttons gaped when he sat, and the buttons near the low bow of his belly probably wouldn’t last five minutes before his stomach strained them off.

Of course Steve was counting on that.

“Tony, would you do the honors?”

When Steve held up a silk scarf, Tony grinned like a hyena and Bruce rolled his eyes. “Ohhh,  _ yeah _ .”

Tony caught Bruce’s eye for confirmation, and after a consensual nod Tony tied Bruce’s hands behind him. “Too tight?”

“No,” Bruce sighed. “But I’m really, really hungry now. So, if you don’t mind hurrying it up--?”

Steve’s smile turned soft and he placed the loaded plate in front of Bruce. “Let us feed ya, okay? Just relax. Quit being such a grump.”

“Okay, okay. Just...be gentle.”

Bruce paled when Tony and Steve exchanged a look that was a trifle too devious for his liking.

***

He inhaled the first two plates and he should’ve been embarrassed by his speed, but he really wasn’t. For one, he was  _ starving _ . For another, the food was beyond tasty. Or maybe that was because he’d salivated over the spread before he’d even seen it. He gobbled down his food about as fast as Tony or Steve could load up their forks, and even with them double-teaming it took a while to get a real rhythm going.

“Christ on a crutch, watch ‘im go.”

“Yeah...”

Bruce only caught snippets of sentences because he was too busy eating. And his mind kept dissociating because the pleasantries of gulping down rivers of fat-ladened foods comforted him, bringing with it the calmness he'd craved all week long.

“Mm...m-more.”

“Of what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Around the fourth plate he slowed enough that Tony and Steve were able to fix their own plates, sneaking bites for themselves between feeding Bruce. 

At one point Tony stretched, and his back popped. “Hey, you sit for a while,” Steve muttered. “He’s going at an easy clip now. It’ll only take one of us, I think.”

“Thanks, man.”

They heard a small  _ plink _ followed by one of Bruce’s happy groans.

Tony lifted the tablecloth and chuckled as he brought up a small white button. “One down,” he said. He shoveled a spoon of mashed potatoes into his mouth before reaching over and fingering the large, gaping hole in Bruce’s shirt. “Three or four left to go.”

Steve laughed. “Don’t forget the pants.”

“Oh, right. Pants.” Tony softly rubbed Bruce’s belly, and Bruce whined quietly as Steve shoveled another fork of food in his mouth.

The feeling of his belly growing and ballooning allowed Bruce to concentrate on how good it felt. How peaceful. How warm, as his stomach nestled over his thighs, jiggling like jello with each bite he took. A few times he ran his hand across his stomach, ecstatic with his sheer roundness, knowing how very fat he’d become. The feeling soothed him in a way he never considered; it just felt...well,  _ nice _ . His fatness grounded him; he liked it.

Bruce rumbled out a soft, food-drugged purr as his lovers bragged, “another button down.”

Sometimes, when his mind became this hazy, he and Hulk would connect. Bruce felt the creature stirring, but Hulk wasn’t mad - quite the opposite, actually. Hulk had been threatening to make an unscheduled appearance all week, but being tenderly hand-fed had a mollifying effect on his greener half. Hulk was metaphorically yawning inside him, sleepy and calm, while Bruce continued satiating their physical and mental hunger with another round of turkey, stuffing, and casseroles.

Increasingly painful pressure began building around Bruce’s swelling abdomen, but then he relaxed his gut muscles and the pressure quickly abated, like a cork shooting from a bottle. He grunted with satisfaction and gobbled down his food with more gusto.

“Pants?” He heard.

“Pants,” Tony confirmed.

Warm hands stroked his middle and calloused thumbs gently prodded and massaged his engorged state.  Bruce moaned and bucked slightly at the intimate act, but someone hushed him and murmured,  _ not yet  _ as a new food-heavy fork teased his lips, threatening to fatten him to bursting.

His mouth was full, but he couldn’t help the ecstatic mews tumbling from his lips. “Mmm. Sooo effin’ good.”

“What is?”

“Everything,” Bruce hummed.

Another  _ plink _ .

When his fogged brain began returning to semi-consciousness, Bruce ran a shaky hand across his heaving gut. His huffed, labored breathing told him just how much he’d overdone it, but he didn’t care. He felt buzzed and at peace. “How’d it go?” He slurred dreamily.

Both Tony and Steve wore goofy, wrecked expressions. Ecstatic, but  _ wrecked _ .

“Let’s put it this way,” Steve chuckled. “We might have enough for a few sandwiches this week.”

“ _ Maybe _ .” Tony snorted a laugh while running a hand through his mussed beyond normal  _ haute  _ coiffure. “Big guy,” he said, softly thumping Bruce’s taut tum. “That had to be a record.”

“I can’t move.” Bruce half hiccuped, half burped. He felt exposed as he pawed absently at his shirt, but pigging-out like this meant buttoning anything would be out of the question...that is, if any buttons worth mentioning remained.

“Let’s take care of you,” Steve said, but he had that glint in his eye, too. “You...um. Up for anything else?”

Bruce felt a twitch beneath the layers of fat on his lap, and he tried hiding his grin - unsuccessfully, though, because he saw similar grins on his lovers’ faces. “Just need a minute of digesting. If you can help me up...?”

“Always.”

And it took a bit of work, even with Steve’s enhanced strength, to drag Bruce to his feet. But the three of them made it to the bedroom, somehow. And all of them had the energy to “go a few rounds,” as Steve would say.

***

_And it's a surprise?_

Bruce glared as the hotel mirror revealed everything he didn’t want to see. His stomach hung low in his dress shirt and his stressed buttons betray the evidence of their “pre-gaming.” Not that he wasn’t already big enough - and his newly acquired five pounds didn’t make a difference either way, considering the extra fat padding his frame - but still, he’d hoped the dress shirt would’ve lasted a little longer.  At  _ least  _ another week.

“You look fine, muffin.” Bruce jumped as Steve gave his neck a kiss, exposing Tony’s bruise. Tony honestly had no shame when it came to “marking” him.

Bruce sighed again, fiddled with his tie, and reached for his pants. “Well, it’ll have to do regardless. I didn’t bring an extra shirt.”

“Check your overnight,” Tony yelled from the bathroom. “Same color, next size up.”

“Great,” Bruce said, but his voice bordered on sarcastic. “Perfect.”

“Hey, hey, don’t.” Steve spun Bruce and looked him up and down. “You’re gorgeous, gorgeous. Don’t let your mind play those kinds of games, and don’t you dare start seeing yourself as less than amazing.”

A shaky smirk pinked Bruce’s lips. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled. “In yours and Tony’s’ eyes, maybe.”

“And the rest of the world can go fuck themselves,” Tony said, barging from the shower with only a towel cinched around his waist. Bruce let his eyes linger on Tony’s pects and muscular torso as the man grabbed his travel kit (Tony would  _ always _ be a silver fox no matter his age, as far as Bruce was concerned).

“Keep struttin’ that hot bod, Banner, 'cause your view’s for our eyes only.” Bruce yawped and stumbled forward as Tony grabbed a fistfull of his ass.  “As squishy and soft as Wonder Bread - just how I like it. And boy,  _ what _ a wonder...”

“Tony,” Steve scolded, then he softly rubbed the back of Bruce’s neck.

“I know, I’m a diva,” Tony said. He shrugged, then grabbed his clothes with his toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Hurry up. We’re running late as it is.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tony shut the door leaving Steve and Bruce with a modicum of privacy. Steve made a small noise and Bruce swallowed, feeling Steve's thumb gently stroking the nape of his neck. “We can quit it all, y’know, teasing aside. You’re more important to us as a person, Bruce. So if you’re not having fun--”

“No,” Bruce said quickly. He spied his belt, thought better of it it, then grabbed a pair of suspenders. “I do like it, almost...almost  _ too _ much.” He lifted his arms when Steve took his suspenders to attach them to his pants. “But it’s...the outward appearance, I guess. I keep imagining what Jen might say. And don’t get me wrong, I like being this fat. I actually do. It’s comforting.”

Steve stroked his cheek. “But?”

“But,” Bruce chewed his lip and slowly nodded. “Sometimes, yes. Other people’s reactions are problematic. And my own neuroses start playing a helluva lot of broken records when that happens.” He waited for Steve to finish fixing his suspenders before he side-eyed him.

“Did...I mention that I ran into Betty the other day?”

Steve paused. He quickly steeled his expression, but Bruce caught a flash of jealousy. “Um, no?”

Bruce huffed lightly. “Yeah. Totally by accident. She was at NYU to collaborate with a colleague and we ran into each other. Literally.” He snorted as he slipped on his jacket. “She was tearing around a corner and bounced off my stomach. Papers flew out of her satchel, she fell on her butt ...it was pretty funny, actually.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “Did you tell Tony?”

“No, not yet. It wasn’t...it didn’t seem important.” He half-shrugged. “Besides, telling him would’ve jacked up his blood pressure.”

“Is he jealous of Dr. Ross?”

“No more than you,” Bruce teased, smirking. “But no. That’s not what I meant.”

Steve stiffened, realizing the truth. “How bad?”

Bruce unconsciously removed his glasses and began polishing them with his lapels.  “Bad enough. It took her a good minute to recognize me, even after I explained who I was. When it dawned on her, well...”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say?”

“Well, I disgusted and horrified her, to be frank, and I don’t blame her; we haven’t seen each other in three years. But her eyes got huge and her face contorted and she said - and I quote - ‘what the hell  _ happened _ to you? You look terrible!’ and then, after I told her I wasn’t sick and it wasn’t the Hulk, it became, ‘my God, Bruce, you’ve really let yourself go - you need professional help before you do irreparable damage’’...and then she darted off somewhere.  I guess. I don’t remember much after her initial dressing down.  

“But I’m fairly sure,” Bruce said, chuckling darkly, “that she counted her blessings for dodging a bullet. Heh. I would’ve proven her father right if she’d married me. That would’ve been an ironic turn, huh?”

Bruce had been wallowing in his own memory cesspool and hadn’t realized how quiet the hotel room had become. When he finally glanced up, both Steve and Tony were staring at him. Tony’s eyes were murky and watery, while Steve’s were pinched and red. Steve also balled up his hands, as if itching for a fight.

“She had no fucking right,” he whispered harshly. “If I ever see her--”

“Don’t, c’mon, Steve. Don’t.” Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. “Although, maybe that’s another reason I had a ‘burr up my butt’ this week, Tony. I can’t blame it all on my student.” He locked eyes with Tony briefly, but Tony’s emotions were too painfully raw to view head-on .

“That’s it.” Tony shoved up his sleeves and grabbed his phone. “I’m getting Pepper to revoke every speaking engagement she has or ever will have, and I’m gonna cancel all of her research grants. She’ll be persona non grata by the time I--”

“No.” Bruce cupped Tony’s shaking hands, then kissed him lightly on the lips. “I appreciate it, from both of you. I know you love me enough to fight for me, but if I can’t get over this last hurdle on my own, it _will_ take me down. Love me or hate me, this is who I am now, and I can’t keep playing both sides. I’ve got to learn to love the consequences, too.”

There wasn’t much to say after that, and they were later than late, now. But both Steve and Tony hugged Bruce fiercely as they filed from the hotel room. And if Tony put on a darker shade of sunglasses than normal, no one much noticed.

***

Tony’s “responsible” driving (well, responsible for Tony, anyway) meant they arrived at Jen’s only twenty or thirty minutes late.  Steve and Tony filed out of the vehicle first, but Bruce paused inside, mercilessly twisting his glasses in his hands.

“C’mon, big guy,” Tony murmured, and he held out his hand.

“I’m not a princess,” Bruce joked.

“No. You’re better,” Tony said seriously. “You’re fucking Bruce Banner.”

“I thought  _ you _ were fucking Bruce Banner,” Bruce deadpanned, and despite the moment Tony laughed.

“Just hurry your ass out. Your cousin’ll think we’re not coming at all.”

“Guys,” Steve called over his shoulder. He was at the front door, waiting for them. “I think she already knows.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but the front door suddenly slammed back and Jennifer Walters rocketed into Steve Rogers’ arms. “You fuckers! Why the hell are you making me come get you? Get inside, you dumb assholes!”

“Language, Ms. Walters!” Steve swung her around.

“Oh, you know you love it, Steve.” She twisted his cheek and pinched it.

“Ow!”

“Stop complaining and put me down. Where are your other thirds?”

“Well, one won’t get his ass out,” Tony crowed over the car. Jen swore a blue streak but before she made her way over, Tony began quietly encouraging Bruce. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “It’ll be fine. Trust me. Trust _her_ .”

Bruce listened, but kept his eyes on the rental’s floormats.   

“Jen, babes!” Before she reached Bruce, Tony dipped her like a 1940s pin-up and kissed her soundly on the lips. “Long time no see.”

“Tony, I swear, if you don’t let me up this minute, I’ll kick your balls in.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Really? You’re gonna test me on that?”

They both giggled. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let me up so I can love on my cousin.”

Tony still held her in a dip. “I think that’s illegal in some states.”

“Tooony...” she slapped his arm. “Quit. Let me up.  _ Now _ .”

His smile faded a little, but he nodded sharply and helped her up. “Go on. Tell him he’s acting like an idiot for not getting out.”

“Not getting...Bruce--? You doing okay?”

Bruce froze, expecting her to gasp when she saw him, or to say something he really didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to upset her. Hell, she was the last person he ever w--

“Robert Bruce Banner, front and center. Right now!”

“Uh oh,” Tony whispered, but loud enough so they all heard. “Three names. He’s in deep shit.”

Bruce chewed the inside of his cheek while rocking and grunting and twisting his body from the back seat. They’d rented a Tesla X which was plenty roomy for a large-ish person, but Bruce had kind of doubled the definition of “large” when no one was paying attention.

“Well,” he swallowed. “It’s me. All one hundred seventy-two kilograms of me.”

Jen waited a beat, but took both of his hands. “You’re like...” she shook her head as a grin broke across her lips. “You look so damn  _ good _ , Bruce, and that makes me incredibly happy for you. You look  _ exactly _ like I hoped you’d look.”

He choked on his halting laugh. “Oh, my God. You’re joking.”

“No, I’m really not.” She looked him over again, her smile growing. “Hug me, already. I’m starving for a hug from you.”

He tentatively reached out, but she reciprocated more, squeezing his guts out and humming appreciatively into his flab. “You’re a huge, fucking, fluffy cloud,” she mumbled into his chest, “and I could stand here all day, soaking you up.” Her head snapped up and she glared at Tony and Steve. “How dare you keep all this juiciness to yourself? Dammit, learn to share, boys!”

“Sorr- _ ee _ ,” Tony said, exaggerating his expression and rolling his eyes. He gently elbowed Steve, who elbowed him back. “I’m happy, too,” Tony mumbled. But Jen misunderstood, thinking he wanted attention. She grabbed Bruce’s hand and bounded over.

“Admit it, you’re a big mushball, Tony Stark. A softy. But not as soft as my handsome cousin.” She squeezed Bruce’s hand, and he tentatively squeezed back. “So why the hell are we hanging outside? Let’s go in and celebrate Thanksgiving together as we should. As a  _ family _ .”

Jen locked arms with Bruce, and he couldn’t help feeling like they were all reenacting a scene from the Wizard of Oz as they returned to her porch, arm and arm. Still...all Bruce’s present and past fears had melted into a puddle back in the Tesla, and Tony’s words,  _ trust _ her, echoed in his mind.

“Told you, muffin,” Steve whispered. He gave Bruce a loving kiss, as they slipped inside, and Bruce’s smirk turned into a genuine smile.

For the first time ever, his extended family Thanksgiving meal would be filling him with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal apologies to all the Betty Ross fans out there - I honestly *do* like her, but it worked for the purposes of the story. But if you'd like, feel free suggest a story idea with her and chubby Bruce and I'll write it. :)


	57. The One Where Tony and Steve Spoil Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[Does] Tony and Steve ever spoil Bruce? If so do they do it with food or lovely dovey stuff?**
> 
>  
> 
> _They do, because Bruce has to remember why he's important - to them, and himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Some angst, with content warnings for depression, mental health, etc.

“This?”

Tony’s eye barely flickered in Steve’s direction before he shook his head. “No, he won’t want one of those, you know how picky he is.”

Steve grimaced at the colorful 3D images of science items projected from the kitchen’s video displays. He felt like snapping at Tony because no, he did  _not_ know how Bruce was when it came to science stuff, and he didn’t know what half the items were, but in hindsight, he thought he could trust Tony’s judgment. “Fine, then.” Steve sighed and mentally counted to thirty while gesturing lamely at another item. “What about that?”

Tony threw back his head and laughed, and Steve relaxed in his chair, believing he’d finally chosen a winner.

“Yeah. Okay. But no.” Tony swiped the picture left, still giggling under his breath while sipping from his mug. The interface in the kitchen was more casual than the one in his lab, and less powerful, but Steve seemed to prefer hanging out in their airy kitchen space over the (in his terms) “stuffy” basement labs.

“Nice joke, though. Bruce’d appreciate the gag.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Oh, forget it. I know you want to surprise Bruce with a gift from both of us, but science isn’t my forte.” He stabbed his finger at the glowy, high tech machines from Bruce’s preferred science catalog, suddenly frustrated that he couldn’t tell the difference between an electron microscope and an electron spectrometer (and he’d only recently learned their names after he’d mistakenly mentioned a passing interest in an Elon Musk’s design which, of course, erupted into a shouting match with Tony). Science was typically Tony and Bruce’s world, a world where he didn’t follow them, but he hated feeling like such an outsider when it came to the science side of their relationship.

“I can’t do much more than guess at most of those instruments and I mistakenly assumed that this - whatever - doohickey would be something he’d like.”

Tony grimaced, slouching against the kitchen island while stroking his chin. He knew what Steve really meant; shopping for Bruce gave them headaches on a good day, but when Bruce got into one of his moods it could be downright impossible to cheer him up.

“Sorry, Steve.” Tony sighed and rolled back one of his shoulders, working out the kinks from their morning sparring session.  “You’ve got a point. Also, I think your eyes’d pop out of their sockets if I tried explaining why we like the science pretties. Again.” He made a small face and tapped the kitchen counter absently, brow furrowing. He figured with the two of them home alone and Bruce at NYU they could’ve come up with something decent, but as he glanced at the wall clock he couldn’t see the point today.  “If we give him anything scientific he’ll know it was  from me. Anyway,” Tony sighed, gesturing at the images. “I can pretty much make all the stuff in his science catalogs. Better, maybe.”

Steve smirked. “Maybe.”

Tony huffed at him. “Try me.”

“I believe you, I believe you,” Steve said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He certainly didn’t want to resurrect their argument from a few days ago.  “Well,” he murmured, staring at the screen. “Maybe we can come up with something later.”

“Yeah, tabling it for now might be the best option - besides, Bruce is really all about the homemade gifts. He’s the type of guy who appreciates effort over function, for whatever reason.” Steve smirked softly at Tony’s pulled face.  “Seriously. I can’t figure why the hell he likes the ‘craft look’ so much, but there it is.” He nodded at Bruce’s colorful, hand-painted pottery mug, leftover from their morning breakfast. “Our house is suddenly becoming a testament to weird Etsy-esque knick knacks.”

Steve chuckled, but as the silence wore on he returned to his thoughts, trying to figure if getting a gift would really elevate Bruce’s mood. Bruce didn’t like being spoiled with stuff for no reason - but would it have the opposite effect if they let him wallow in his depression…?

“Hang on,” Steve finally murmured. He briefly glanced Tony’s way. “Maybe we’re approaching  this wrong. Maybe science isn’t the answer.”

Tony looked him up and down, mock-horrified. “Science is  _always_  the answer, Steven Grant Rogers, how dare you. Did our argument teach you nothing? Perish your heathen notions.” After a brief grin to show he was (mostly) kidding, Tony turned his sharp eye on Steve. “But really. What do you have in mind?”

“Something heartfelt, honest, and real…and something we can accomplish within in the next few hours.”

“Before the big guy gets home from work?” Tony’s eyebrow quirked. “Go for it, I’m listening.”

 

**

Bruce didn’t feel that out of sorts, per se - his life was damn near perfect now - but he still got low and sometimes memories rubbed him raw like a pebble in a worn out shoe. And sometimes, like now, those memories became the precursor for the “what-if” hamster running the wheel in his brain. He’d been anxious, depressed, and exhausted all at once and he felt worse because he knew the guys sensed it. They were trying to help, but the only cure seemed to be riding it out until he felt better.

“Honeys,” he declared meekly. “I’m home.”

He opened their door, hung up his jacket, and toed off his shoes. He also toed off his socks, which was his own little ritual, because he liked going around barefoot. Tony liked socks, Steve wore house shoes (“like the old grandpa he is,” Tony teased), and well…Bruce liked spreading his toes between the contrasts of the floor, carpet, and tile. Maybe his new routine hearkened back to his travels, where he met some who could afford shoes, and some who couldn’t. He actually enjoyed staying with different tribes and people groups who found shoes to be a hindrance; they loved running and playing barefoot, and occasionally, when he was in a particularly light mood, sometimes he’d join them and their children in play.

Not that it lasted long, due to the Hulk. Or the US military. But at least he had the memories.

Sighing softly, Bruce began stuffing his socks in his pockets when Lily rushed to greet him, tail anxiously wagging. “Hey, girl,” Bruce murmured, kneeling down with a groan to pick her up. If he were truthful with himself, it  _had_  been getting harder to reach for things - not that it’d been easy anyway after gaining all his extra weight - but bending down was naturally tougher now. He staggered down on one knee and Lily jumped up on his thigh, as if instinctively knowing, and he groaned again, puffing his way up as he brought her into his chest. She made herself comfortable in the crook of his chubby forearms, and there was enough room for her to take a quick nap as he walked her around.

“Where’re your other daddies, huh?” He said, softly stroking her fur. “Are you by yourself this evening?” He hoped neither Steve nor Tony forgot to feed her or take her out, but that didn’t seem likely. If anything, maybe she was getting too much attention. She was a bit pudgier than when he’d first brought her home. “High side of comfortable,” the vet told them last week. Which meant no more table scraps (and they all glared at Tony who pretended he wasn’t the guilty party - though honestly they all were). But since Lily didn’t have her own Hulk inside of her, they’d begun cutting back on her treats and taking her on more walks.

Which begged the question: If Tony and Steve weren’t out walking Lily, where the heck were they?

“Jarvis,” Bruce said, raising his voice slightly. “Where’re the guys?”

Jarvis paused, and Bruce wasn’t sure what that meant. Hopefully they were okay…

“Sirs said they will be with you shortly, and to make yourself comfortable in the library.”

“Oh, that’s not at all ominous,” Bruce murmured. He took Lily with down the hall, grumbling all the way. “Did they at least walk and feed the dog?”

“Ms. Lily was walked approximately thirty minutes ago, and was fed forty five minutes ago.”

“Okay. Good.” Bruce pulled a small face and headed for the library, Lily still nestled in his arms. “Still not sure if I should be ducking for cover or not.” His stomach rumbled, and he hoped absently that whatever they were doing wouldn’t take long. He was pretty hungry, and they knew better than making him wait for dinner these days.

**

“Huh.”

Bruce blinked. The library had been transformed from a posh book-nook to the equivalent of a buffet in a fancy hotel. Lily squirmed in his arms and he found a way of putting her down without too much trouble while scanning a long skirted table filled with stainless steel chafers hosting glowing sterno cans beneath. Steam curled from the lids, tantalizing Bruce’s salivary glands, and hints of exotic dishes teased his senses. He looked around, but didn’t see any servers…but he did see a few dishes and silverware. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have a  _small_ taste, before Steve and Tony arrived–

“Oh, by no means, sir. Allow me.”

Startled, Bruce snatched his hand back from a plate and spun towards a French voice that seemed far too close to his right ear. But it was only Tony, grinning at him from head to toe, clad in a black chef’s outfit while hastily tying a half-apron around his middle. “We have several options on the menu tonight,” Tony said, continuing in a horrible French accent parody. “All for your pleasure.”

“Tony, what–”

“Tut, tut,” Tony said, although he couldn’t resist winking at Bruce. “I am Chef Antoine, your co-buffetier for the evening.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Is that really a word?”

Tony continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “It will be our pleasure to serve you.” He produced a fancy placard and presented it to Bruce.  “ _Voila_ , a list of tonight’s appetizers, available for your perusal.”  

Bruce licked his lips at the menu items, and well…it did shoot a little thrill through him at all the items he saw. “It all looks good…it’s hard to choose,” he murmured, and his stomach rumbled loudly. “Sorry.”

“No judgments here, monsieur.” Bruce snorted; he’d have to tease Tony about his accent later.  “May I suggest beginning with one of these? The duck confit or the curried shrimp with ginger overtones?”

“Why not any and all,” Bruce said, chuckling. Tony nodded, whisking himself behind the chafers to load Bruce’s plate while Bruce watched. “So where’s Steve?”

“Ah,” Tony began, presenting Bruce with an overfull plate of different delectable bites. The duck and curry were just one selection, but there were plenty of other random appetizers, and Bruce munched on each happily.

“M'sieur Capitan will join us soon - or at least he better,” Tony added in his own, non-Frenchy voice. Bruce simply snorted and gulped down the appetizers. They really were delightful, especially the small puff pastries.  “Please, sir. Have a seat at your personal table, and your waiter will take your order.”

“My…waiter?”

Tony’s grin was infectious as he seated Bruce. “Oh, garçon? G _arçon_!” He clapped his hands, and on cue Steve came out wearing a quite fetching - and quite fitted - waiter ensemble. Bruce couldn’t help thinking his own dirty thoughts at how the waistcoat hugged Steve’s chest in all the right places, and he pulled his glasses down his nose to take a closer look.

“Mm-hm,” Tony muttered sotto voce, again in his own accent. “I see you eyeing the menu, Banner.”

“Look but don’t touch?”

“Oh, there will be touchin’ - but after dinner.”

“So he’s dessert?”

Tony nudged Bruce’s shoulder. “If you play your cards right, he is.”

“Two for one special.”

Tony’s grin grew. “I’ve corrupted you. Not that I mind of course.”

Bruce smirked back, but he stopped the banter as Steve came over, tugging his lapels. He had a white napkin draped over his arm, and wore the same waist apron Tony had…although his pants seemed a bit…tighter than Tony’s. On purpose, Bruce assumed.

Steve had a small twinkle in his eye, but unlike Tony he seemed determined to stay in character (despite how often he tugged his vest lapels). “Hello, sir. Would you like me to list the specials for this evening?”

Bruce couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Unlike Tony, Steve decided not to try an accent on for size. “Hmm. I wouldn’t mind.”

Meanwhile, Tony had left his side to uncork an expensive bottle of red.  _His favorite_ , Bruce noted, and like a true sommelier, Tony swirled a small sample in a wine glass for Bruce to sniff and taste while Steve explained the menu.

“We have either a prime rib special with lobster tails or a butter chicken curry on a bed of jasmine rice. Additional side dishes include a Punjabi palak paneer, loaded mashed potatoes, garlic green beans, a roasted vegetable medley, a mix of sauteed mushrooms and onions in a balsamic sauce, and extra creamy macaroni and cheese in an exquisite roux.”

Bruce smirked a little. “‘Exquisite’, huh? It all sounds good. I’ll try a little of everything.”  His smirk widened when Steve broke into a goofy grin. Even super soldiers had to break character, sometimes. He took a small sip of his wine. “So, will I…be dining alone this evening?”

“Your dinner companions should be arriving shortly,” Tony said. He’d begun piling food on a plate for Bruce. “But they specifically requested that they will be running late, so you should start your meal without them.”

Bruce shrugged. “I can wait–”

“Nope,” Tony barked, breaking character. “You start, Brucie. We’ll get our plates and join you in a sec. Promise.”

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said, his face softening as Tony presented his overloaded plate to him. “But I’m warning you, don’t take too long.” He folded a linen napkin in his lap and began tucking in, eagerly awaiting his lovers to join him.

**

“You actually came up with this idea today?”

Steve shrugged, but Tony bragged on him. “It was all Steve’s idea. Called around, had some caterers setup, then I paid for their outfits so we could take their place.” Tony closed his eyes and moaned around a piece of prime rib. “Glad we did. It was fun.”

“Although it’s not over yet,” Steve hinted. His eyes became hooded and his smile darkened as he nodded at Bruce’s fifth cleaned plate. “What else?”

“Hmm…maybe another bite of that butter chicken, and rice - and macaroni? Oh, and another roll, if there are any left? And a few random appetizers? I liked all of them.”

“You got it.” Steve immediately grabbed Bruce’s plate, and went to the buffet to fill it up.

Tony’s watched, his own dark smirk mirroring Steve’s. “Gotta say,” he said, dunking a hunk of lobster tail in melted butter. “You’re doin’ him proud.”

“I was honestly that hungry, although this will probably be my last plate.”

“Unless there’s dessert?”

“Wait, there’s dessert?” Bruce perked up, and Tony laughed.

“ _Yes_ , there’s dessert. Of course there is, we aren’t gonna let you starve. Three or four different ones, from that little patisserie you like.”

Bruce wiggled his fingers at him. “Did you get–?”

“Yep. And the cheesecake, and the chocolate torte. I think we also have an apple cobbler for his majesty over there; I don’t even have to say it. But I will. He’s as–”

“–American as apple pie,” Bruce finished with him, and they both snorted softly.

“Bruce,” Steve called over the buffet. “You want any more mashed potatoes? Still got enough of those, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce said. “Load it up.”

Tony grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, boy. Wrong thing to say. We’ll be rolling you out of here by the time you’re done.”

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” Bruce murmured cheekily, but Tony hid his smile in another bite of prime rib.

**

Much, much, later, after the dishes had been cleared and the desserts eaten (Bruce had two slices of tiramisu, the torte, and cobbler ala mode), and the arousals - sexual, emotional, and physical - sated, Bruce moaned as Tony and Steve gave him naked tummy/back rubs on their wide emperor bed. Ethereal, ambient tones combined with trickling water and birdsong piped softly into their bedroom, giving the illusion of a proper spa.

“You’re spoiling me,” he mumbled into the silk sheets, while Tony went over his back with a wooden massage stick.

“That’s the plan,” Tony said

“And we’re happy to do it.” After Steve went over a particularly tight spot on the bottom of his feet, Bruce groaned happily.

“I could get used to living like a king.”

“No doubt. We can get you coupons on the next gig, as long as you give us a turn too.”

Bruce chuckled, but also noticed things had gone a bit too quiet. They were still massaging his body, but–

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting like an asshole.”

Pause. “We get it Bruce. It happens with each of us.”

“But not as often as me.”  Another pause. Tony’s hands stilled, and Bruce sighed and began turning over. “I know I’m the problem child, no need to sugarcoat it.”

He watched Steve and Tony exchange a glance, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. They weren’t going to deny it to make him feel better this time.

“Hey, don’t,” Tony murmured. He must’ve already seen the expression change on Bruce’s face. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Pooh Bear. You’ve gotta know we’re not mad at you.”

“We’re worried, though” Steve said, shuffling along Bruce’s back. He motioned for Bruce to turn back over. Steve began slow rubs across the expanse of his back and he closed his eyes. “Tony and I see people. I mean, we don’t talk about it much–”

“And you know how I am about people playin’ in my head,” Tony said. “I ignored my shit for a long time, but eventually I got clobbered by a clue-by-four.” He nodded to Steve. “That guy there convinced me, and admittedly it helps.”

“Fine for you, but it’s different with me,” Bruce retorted. He sounded like a petulant baby, he knew, but at this point he was so fucking tired. “If you get upset, you won’t endanger your therapist’s life, or waste a city block, or…hell. Forget it, never mind. I’ll just…I’ll do better. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, babe,” Tony mumbled. “But…if there was a way, Bruce. I’m saying if, so don’t fight me on this. If. Would you want to see someone?”

“Tony…”

“Bruce,” Steve began, his tone a little less loving and a little too commanding. “You need it. Give us a chance to find someone, all right? If help’s available, would you want it? Yes or no?”

Bruce swallowed, but didn’t dare say anything. Instead, he nodded slowly, and hid his head in the crook of his arms so he couldn’t look at them.

“That’s our boy,” Steve whispered. Tony kissed his shoulder, and Bruce was ashamed to find tears squeezing from his eyes and running down his cheeks. Maybe admitting it would be cathartic enough, he thought, as the continued backrubs and whispered earthsongs eased the remaining tension from his body.

***

Three or four weeks later, both Tony and Steve explained they found some kind of miracle worker who might have the time, resources, and abilities to help him, without fears of mass destruction. “And he’s just down the road, in Westchester, Brucie. We could practically walk over.” 

And although Bruce couldn’t make them any promises and he wasn’t expecting miracles, he did allow himself to feel something about his illness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time:  _Hope_.


	58. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a secret he's been hiding from his lovers. He thought they were asleep when he talked about it out loud, but at least one of them heard every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this can be read as a conclusion to the Infundo Chronicles, I’ll probably write more in this universe from time to time. When I set out to write this particular story I didn’t expect it to be the last in the series, but it seems fitting. Stories and universes can close unbidden and on their own, and as a writer I need to respect that. But I do love this version of Bruce, Tony, and Steve so I expect I'll see them again at another time. But for now, it’s a peaceful place to stop.
> 
> I’ll still answer questions - but for now, I wish them happiness.

 

_Non, rien de rien_

_Non, je ne regrette rien_

_C'est payé, balayé, oublié_

_Je me fous du passé !_

\-- _Michel Vaucaire (sung by Edith Piaf)_

 

They respected his right to keep his past tightly-guarded. They also knew he never discussed his adolescence, apart from what they’d already read in public files. And yes, to be fair all three of them had “issues,” but their conversations would end in a Fort Knox lockdown if they nagged him for answers about his past. And somewhere dark in him, Bruce figured Hulk’s creation could’ve stemmed from crushing daddy issues (Brian Banner’s uxoricide and atrocities guaranteed a life of depression and suicidal ideation, too).

The public treated him like a circus sideshow before the Hulk emerged, even since he was a little kid, so yeah Tony and Steve guessed he still had a few unvoiced problems. Yet they never pressed him to talk unless his depression took a sudden dive.

He loved them for that.

“Did you know?” Bruce whispered softly. His low voice trembled in Tony’s ear, causing Tony to grunt and tighten a grip on “his” portion of Bruce’s prodigious paunch. Trailers from the last movie streamed mutely to the sleepy thirds, recommending movies Bruce put on his “to view later” list.

On his left Steve’s snores teased a giggle from Bruce’s throat. He’d gotten much too fat to comfortably view Steve from his side unless he moved his entire body (which he wouldn’t, for fear of waking him), but Bruce could feel the ebb and flow of Steve’s chest with each breath. The noises calmed Bruce and kept him comfortably grounded.

But apart from the grunt, Tony had barely moved. Bruce’s excess body heat had turned their ridiculously wide couch into pockets of therapeutic warmth, perfect for the chilly morn, and Tony refused to shift off of Bruce’s lap. The sectional was nearly as comfortable as their bed but on nights when they ate junk and stayed up late watching quadruple features, everyone elected to sleep on the couch.  

“Shh, Brucie,” Tony slurred. He sighed as Bruce finger combed his hair. “Sleep now, dear. Muse later.”

“Mhm.” Bruce chuckled when Tony snuggled deeper into his stomach, squeezing and fluffing the fat like his own personal pillow. In response Bruce swirled his sausage-thick fingers through Tony’s hair, lulling the engineer back to sleep.

“I saw that very movie in college,” Bruce mumbled once Tony snuffled in his sleep. “Back when I finally won enough scholarship money for my books,  tuition, housing, and a seven-day meal plan.” His fingers methodically and unconsciously tapped Tony’s scalp. “Betty and I argued a lot back then but our arguments waned after we saw that movie. ‘Of course I still love you,’ she’d said, ‘but you’ve got to do something. You look way too much like him.’“

Bruce frowned and gentled his hands in Tony’s hair. If he got too rough Tony’d wake and he didn’t want that. “That’s when I made some tough decisions,” he murmured. “Looking back, I honestly don’t think I wanted to. But I changed anyway. For her.”

Confessing--well half-confessing, since he hoped his words were vague enough so no one would understand him--helped loosen the gut-knot he’d ignored for years.

Go figure.

Bruce ran a hand beneath his glasses, sighing. He really should turn in. The clock on the TV read four-something-am and yeah, it was technically Saturday, but still--

“Wait, what?”

 _Nuts_. Bruce swallowed. “Um...you’re dreaming. Go back to sleep, Tony.”

“Nuh, uh, no. We’re not playing that card.” Tony yawned and rolled up like a cat, propping his elbow behind the couch so he could stare Bruce eye to bloodshot eye. Bruce smiled a little and pulled back one of Tony’s stray hairs to de-emphasize his lover’s bedhead.

“There’s no card. We need get some decent sleep because we stay up too late on weekends as it is. So next time, I say we stick to double features when teaching Steve twentieth century culture. And we start earlier in the day.”

“The eighties rule, and those movies’re Lays potato chips - try to watch just one, I dare you.” Bruce smirked, conceding Tony’s point. “But that’s neither here nor there, big guy. And you’re forgetting that One, I’m a light sleeper. And Two, a genius.”

“A genius at staying up way too late.”

“And a genius at peering through other geniuses smokescreens.”

“Touche.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve grumbled. Bruce shut his eyes, internally groaning. He could verbally spar with Tony to get him off the scent, but not him  _and_  Steve.

Steve sniffed and hid a yawn in a curved fist. “What time is it?”

“Between astronomical and civil dawn.”

Steve blinked. “What--?”

“4:30 a.m-ish,” Tony translated. He gave Bruce a hard stare. “And our boy Brucie is playing dumb while attempting to evade my questions.”

Steve looked adorably rumpled and rather childlike the seconds before fully wakening, but his clueless innocence didn’t last long. Bruce sank lower into the couch as concern and anger clouded Steve’s expression.

“Why?”

“I’m thinkin’ it had something to do with the last movie, but he’s not budging.”

“The movie with that really cute guy, with the cute name?”

Tony grinned. “Yeah.”

“C’mon, that had to be a stage name.”

“What, John Candy? Nope. Real name.”

“Son of a gun.”

Bruce hoped they’d continue, or at least leave him alone enough so they’d ignore him. “I’m just tired,” he deflected, yawning for emphasis. “We should table this for another time - really, it’s nothing.”

“No we’re gonna have it out now, because you’re too good at diverting us from the truth.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Stop it. I know your game, Banner. You might as well ‘fess up.”

Worse, Steve kneaded Bruce’s side like a giant soothing cat, breaking concentration and resolve. “C’mon, muffin,” Steve sang, softly kissing Bruce’s jawline. “No judgments here.”

Bruce exchanged gazes with both of the men. “All right, all right. Fine...but don’t make a giant deal out of this, okay?”

“Promise,” Tony said, and Bruce glared daggers. “I said I wouldn’t! Sheesh.”

Bruce ignored his retort. “Steve...?”

“I’ll try,” Steve mumbled.

Bruce thinned his lips and ran his hands through his hair, hardening his expression. “This is tough for me, okay? So don’t...blow this out of proportion.”

“We won’t, we won’t,” Tony growled. He made the universal, “hurry up” gesture with his hand. “Just spit it out.”

Bruce glowered at his partners once before staring at his hands. “O...kay.  _Okay_. For a year or two in college,” he breathed, mentally preparing himself, “I was...pretty tubby.” His gaze shot up as Steve squeaked, but when he saw delight marching across his lover’s faces he held up a hand. “Ah, no! I told you, don’t make a big deal out of this!”

“Like...how tubby?” Tony asked, and his nefarious grin nearly split his skull. Steve nervously chewed his lips, not daring to make another sound. “Big as you are now? Or--”

Bruce shut his eyes. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he mumbled. Then, “Almost, maybe. Since one of my scholarships provided unlimited cafeteria meals as long as I maintained my honors GPA, I made up for my strict childhood by gobbling up every fried, sugary, and fatty treat I could get my hands on. I took full advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffets on campus including the ones open after midnight, and I was determined to get my money’s worth.”

He quietly fiddled with the hem on his shirt cuff, thankful that his partners kept quiet after his rebuff. “Maybe in one sense I was afraid. Afraid that someone had made a clerical error, and I’d lose my literal meal ticket. I justified the gorging, telling myself the free food was temporary. When you’re poor,” he said, suddenly solemn, “you don’t question ‘free’ or ‘extra.’ You take what you can, when you can.”

The room stilled, and Bruce suddenly heard the quiet background noises of their home; Lily lapping from her water dish, Jarvis’ temperature modulations, the exhales of surprise from his companions.

Time to change the atmosphere.

“In short,” Bruce said lightly, attempting to brighten the mood, “I gained the freshman  _two_  fifteen instead of the freshman fifteen.”

“And Betty wasn’t happy about it.”

Bruce shook his head. “I didn’t want to lose her, so I slimmed down until she was happy with me again. And anyway,” he muttered, shifting awkwardly on the couch, “thrift stores didn’t really carry my size and I couldn’t afford anything new. So that ended that.”

“But  _you_  liked it,” Steve murmured, his voice caught somewhere between awe and reverence. Bruce wasn’t sure if the awe came from him being 215+ pounds overweight in college or something else. “That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You liked being fat.”

Bruce shifted again. “I...um. Well, honestly? ‘Like’ isn’t a strong enough word. I...ah. I loved it.” He stared at his thick hands, feeling the embarrassment flood him, even now. “It felt great to be that chubby. I felt powerful. I felt in charge of my destiny and in control of my life. I...enjoyed how my mass shifted and jiggled with each footfall. How my steps caused furniture to quake and rattle. How people couldn’t ignore me.” He heard a small squeak, and immediately narrowed his eyes. “ _Steve_. Don’t turn this into something weird.”

“I’m not, I--It’s just, it’s--um...it’s--”

“Nah, you broke him, Pooh Bear.” Tony grinned like a shark and tweaked Bruce’s double chin before sobering. “I could make some quip about the Hulk, but I won’t. And while I’m sorry Betty made you lose your weight class and you went back to fighting featherweight--”

“Lightweight.”

“--whatever weight, it was still wrong of her to force it on you. I like that  _you_  liked bein’ a hunky chunky and that you’re finally getting to enjoy it, twenty-plus years later.” He rubbed the back of his neck and got quiet. “Makes me feel less like a creeper, anyway.”

Both Steve and Bruce frowned but only Bruce responded. “A...what? Why?”

Tony paused as an uncharacteristic blush tinted his cheeks. “Hm. Well...I ran my own little tests on you, Banner. My mind loved watching your weight shoot up so I casually recommended some meal ideas to our cooks. I told them to tweak the recipes to keep you large, and in charge.”

Bruce gently reached for Tony’s hand and gave him a gentle peck on the lips. “Thanks for telling me but if I’d minded I would’ve said something.” Tony snorted, looking bashfully at a corner of the room. “Trust me, my taste buds are so heightened that I can tell if there’s extra cream or another additive. It makes my meals extra delicious so I enjoy overeating to savor every bite.”

“Ohhh...” An unconscious moan dropped from Steve’s lips. Tony rolled his eyes even as Bruce grabbed Steve’s hand.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bruce huffed. “But I love you anyway.” Bruce brought both their hands to his lips, kissing them. “I was destined to blow up. I just had to have the right company and the right motivation.”

“So...you’re not mad?”

Bruce looked pensive. “No, not really. Maybe disappointed you weren’t initially up front with me, but it’s okay. But let me know from here on out.

“In fact,” he sighed again, shifting his belly. He briefly pawed it, smirking at the bounce in his lap. “I think I’m nearing the point where I want to level out.”

“Aw, honest?”

“Steve, don’t be too upset.” A small smile pinked Bruce’s lips. “It was inevitable; you know I can’t keep gaining forever.” He gently rubbed Steve’s hand. “My human body is hitting some hard limits and it’s becoming difficult to move comfortably. I can’t walk too far - and running’s definitely out - but I’d like to be able to at walk around the house without a variety of ambulatory aids, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Steve pouted, causing Bruce to laugh. “I’ll miss measurement nights, though.”

Bruce winked at him. “I might not want to actively gain but I’m not planning on losing anything. So feel free to keep me in this range, plus or minus ten pounds.”

Steve’s expression brightened. “That I could do.”

“It’s a compromise, I’m sure. But I consider myself fluffy enough for your whims.”

“Stop,” Tony interrupted, laughing at their schmaltz. “No more, I’m done. I’m going to bed.”

“I think we should all turn in. It’s pretty late.”

“Early, you mean.” Steve offered his hand. Bruce took the help, rocking back and forth so the momentum could launch him from the couch’s deep divots. Steve smiled softly. His expression lingered on Bruce’s massive torso and on the button-down shirt with strained seams. “You need some new work shirts, Muffin.”

“Yeah. Maybe later today or tomorrow.”

“Shopping?” Tony yawned grandly and wrapped his arms around Bruce’s sides, though his fingers were more than a foot from connecting. Bruce chuckled as Tony slammed his head into his back, snuggling close. “Shopping’s my second favorite hobby.”

“And your first?”

“You blind, Banner? It’s you. And Steve, in a pinch.”

“In a pinch, huh? Thanks.”

“You two,” Bruce murmured. He motioned Steve over and stilled as both men wrapped around him in a cocoon of arm warmth. “My guys.”

“Always and forever,” Steve mumbled, and Bruce felt Tony nod against his back.

“Sleep now,” Tony said. “It’s chilly, and I need my Bruce-powered bed warmer.”

“You got it.”

They changed into comfortable clothes and tumbled into bed with Bruce between them. Bruce exhaled a loud, contented sigh as both Tony and Steve scooted into his body, cuddling snugly into his fat. He briefly reminiscent about his life, about the beginning of their time as a trio until now, and realized he was happier than he had any right to be. “Love you,” he whispered to them. He smiled after feeling a gentle  _whump_  while Lily found her sleep spot, completing their family. 

Bruce mouthed  _you too_  to their pup, then settled into his own peaceful slumber.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tease](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750292) by [Molly_Ren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Ren/pseuds/Molly_Ren)




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